A Subtle Approach
by TheRainyAbe
Summary: Mysterious events that occurred in Privet Drive change the turn of events completely. Professor McGonagall's ominous statement proves to be true as the Dursley's never truly 'understand' Harry Potter. A completely new take of a Harry Potter fanfiction featuring Wizarding Finances, Politics, Betrayals, and Justice. Harry/Daphne. Sporadic Updates.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer-** The wizarding world belongs to JKR, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury etc.

 **Author's** **Note** **-** Hello! It seems you've stumbled upon my first fanfiction, A Subtle Approach. You've probably browsed the entire website for good Harry/Daphne stories, and I hope I can live up to the expectations.

I would like to thank my friend (he prefers me to call him 'boss'), Tideturner27 for beta purposes. He is currently working on a story too, A Blank Canvas, which I would recommend you all to read.

So, sit back, relax and enjoy!

 **Beta's Note** **-** TideTurner27 here, TheRainyAbe has always been very supportive of my work as my beta, and I am very honoured to finally present his first fanfiction in my capacity as his beta.

 **AN2-** As of 20/11/2018, I have updated the Prologue to make it a better read.

* * *

 **A Subtle Approach- Prologue**

"What is our purpose?" The defeated man spoke to the dull, stone walls. He spoke softly, ethereally, unwavered by the silence the walls answered with.

"Love?" He asked again.

"That's a fool's answer." He answered himself with conviction.

"To make power our purpose.. it is too small. It defeats our cause."

He sat there on the cold stone ground, contemplating his thoughts.

 _What is our purpose?_

* * *

As far as family heirlooms went, there was a particular one which needed attention. A ring he owned, emblemed with the _Dreieck_ , the symbol now famous as that of Death's gifts, the hallows. It had a curious ability that it could absorb signatures of arcane magic, once it came in contact with the wielder.

The ring had rested on his fingers for the past few decades. And before that - he had presented it as a gift of sorts. The one who wore his ring had been known to the world as Credence, but to him, his identity was of little consequence. The power the boy possessed was what mattered, that could rally nations behind the cause. The power uncontained by chains of law and morality.

It had come to him long back, the reason why his actions had been justified. The purpose of existence was to elevate our world, beyond the scope of human anticipation, beyond the beliefs of lesser minds. And this change which is needed to be brought has no moral boundaries, for the truth is the truth.

And no sacrifice is too much for the Greater Good.

* * *

His eyes snapped open. This feeling had long evaded him, but not anymore. His finger quivered from the continued hum that emerged from his ring. There could be no mistake. Another child existed in the world, with the imminent power to level cities, who had to sacrifice his childhood for receiving this power.

"An obscurial...", he said softly. His voice came out dry and raspy. Obscurials were impulsive, they were volatile. His mind raced, weighing the possibilities carefully. Plans began to form in his mind. Every moment that passed brought forth more clarity. It was as if destiny had given him a new chance, the ignition to fuel his purpose. But he would need to change his method, for he knew where he had gone wrong. He would need more patience, more tact, a subtle approach.


	2. Letters from the past

**Disclaimer-** The Wizarding World and all in it belongs to JKR, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros. etc.

 **Author's Note-** Hello again! After the crazy narrative prologue, I gladly bring you the first chapter of 'A Subtle Approach'. I was flattered to see 39 people register in the Story alert subscription (also known as 'follows'), and I hope my story is interesting enough to get those numbers skyrocketing. Once again I would like to thank Tideturner27 for 'beta'ing this chapter and providing me with his wise counsel when I asked for it (and also when I didn't ask for it). This chapter wouldn't have come out half as well as it did if it weren't for him.

 **Beta's Note-** TideTurner27 here. This is the first real chapter and it gives me immense pleasure to present it to all of you. This chapter really put into perspective exactly how hard betaing is... My constant gratitude remains with the author, my old friend, TheRainyAbe. For the Readers I only have one word, Enjoy.

On a side note, in regards to my own story, A Blank Canvas, I have exams till the 24th...and therefore will resume my story from then onwards. Apologies to my Readers.

* * *

 _"You have to face your past, Harry."_

 _Theatrics.._

 _"What scares you?"_

 _She looked confused, "What do you mean?"_

 _"That dog chasing me, it terrified me. It was probably harmless, hardly life-threatening, yet at that moment, I was dead scared. I ran out, calling for help."_

 _Her eyes bore into mine, was it pity she felt?_

 _Sympathy?_

 _"I don't need your pity," I snapped back unnecessarily._

 _"Harry, did they help?"_

 _"Help? Did they... help..?" I choked back a taunt, "They don't care if I live or die!"_

 _"What do you remember?"_

 _I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, " I remember falling.."_

* * *

 **Letters from the past**

It was a well-known fact that nothing changed much in Privet Drive. Identical houses were lined up, blocks stretching beyond where eyes could follow. The neighbours unanimously competed against each other, whether it be the tidiness of the gardens or the question of 'who knows whom'. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened here, women gossiped from the backyards, and men went on with their work, making plans for get-togethers on Sunday mornings, but sleeping in after catching a late night game. It was a quiet neighbourhood, where the residents were perfectly respectable and crime level curiously low.

It all began on a hot Saturday morning. Stifling a yawn, Timothy got down from the mail-van and shut the door soundly. He had no complaints about his job. Driving around a few blocks, handing letters, smiling, greeting people; postmen are generally well-liked. He hardly faced anything queer in his work hours, except for a dog or two, but that was part of the job.

Oddly, Number Four had a strange post that day. He was surprised to see an envelope without a stamp - it must have missed the scanning at the office. That rarely happened. He pushed the mail in through the slot, wondering if he should report it to someone. While retracing his steps, Tim met the look of a suspicious lady wearing an odd hairnet. He waved merrily at her, receiving no response, but a fixated stare.

Getting in his van, he turned the radio on to catch an ongoing game. The strange envelope was soon out of his mind.

* * *

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

Harry silently left the table and made his way to the door. He scanned through the letters quickly: two postcards, one bill of some sort, and a thick rough envelope. His heart hammered in his chest as he turned the envelope around and let out a relieved sigh,

 _Mr H. Potter,  
_ _The Cupboard under the Stairs,  
_ _4 Privet Drive,  
_ _Little Whinging,  
_ _Surrey._

It was finally here.

Harry returned to the table quickly, handed the mail to his uncle and resumed eating. He looked up to find Dudley smirking at him. Harry rolled his eyes, seriously that kid needed medical help. Tweedling his thumbs in anticipation, Harry waited... Anytime now.

"Nothing from Marge yet," Uncle Vernon grumbled, eyeing Harry critically.

Harry ignored him.

Browsing through the postcards, Uncle Vernon continued, " Mr Mason is on a vacation, and Katherine...", his words stopped abruptly. As he stared at the yellowish envelope, Uncle Vernon paled considerably.

"OUT! Both of you!", he bellowed.

Hearing his outburst, Aunt Petunia rushed at the table from the kitchen while Harry took the opportunity and dumped his breakfast in the rubbish bin. Dudley demanded to see the letter, and Harry was out of the room by the time Uncle Vernon could respond.

He heard the door shut violently and loud, incomprehensible voices rang in the house. Inwardly, he was ecstatic, it won't be long that his life took a turn for the better.

* * *

Vernon ordered Dudley out of the living room and shut the door. "Look at the address, P-Petunia... They know about his cupboard, they might...", he sounded frightened.

"They never interfered, Vernon, they probably won't know anything about it."

Petunia had long anticipated this letter. The same thick envelope that had changed her life about twenty years back. Those letters from the past brought back memories; bad memories.

Vernon's face slowly hardened. Anger washed away the guilt and he snapped, "We did nothing that the freak didn't deserve, that ungrateful wretch...". His words died out. He stared glumly out of the window, and almost as an afterthought, he concluded, "I'm not risking it, pack some clothes, tomorrow we leave early." He fished out a lighter from his pocket, fumbled with the clicker and lit the envelope. He then threw it in the fireplace, finding a strange sense of satisfaction watching it burn.

* * *

Harry stayed outdoors the entire afternoon. In the evening, he was amazed to find the immediate change in the hospitality of his relatives. Aunt Petunia didn't shout at him when he spilt water on the kitchen counter. Uncle Vernon got Dudley to clean up the mess in his bedroom, which the latter seemed immensely reluctant to do; he feigned sickness, cried continuously for half an hour, broke his computer screen, screamed at his parents and sulked away the evening. Harry found it very amusing.

The next morning, Harry was up and ready half an hour earlier than ordered. His relatives took their time in lugging their bags down and getting ready for the trip. A quick snack and they left Privet Drive. Dudley kept whining about his TV shows and games, sparing pitiful glances at the receding house. The car finally turned around a corner and he couldn't do that anymore.

It was very late in the evening when Uncle Vernon finally took the exit of the highway and parked his Vauxhall behind a rundown building with a flickering motel sign. He made the suitable arrangements and booked a room, much to Dudley's relief, who seemed as if he would pass out any second.

"Boy! Set your bed on the floor. Dudley can sleep on the couch."

That seemed almost generous. Harry was prepared for far worse, he had anticipated being blamed for their current predicament and a skipped dinner as a minimal punishment. The motel didn't serve food, so Uncle Vernon went out and bought some fruits. As he lay down to sleep, Harry mentally ticked another day off.

* * *

"They just left, Albus. No sign of them or their car."

"Arabella, are you sure?"

"Yes, the milkman took the bottles back too, Petunia never leaves it unattended... there is no one in the house."

"Was there any magical disturbance?"

"Nothing! That spinning top thing is perfectly still."

Arabella Figg hesitated before continuing,

"I always hoped that I had imagined it that day, Albus. Things have changed since then.. The boy, he has changed."

The headmaster's expressions were unreadable amidst the flames.

"What do you mean by changed?"

"He stopped smiling, not that he smiled a lot before, but now he's just expressionless. He doesn't play any of those childish games with the others in the park, he does nothing."

"Does he talk to anyone?"

"No one approaches him or bothers him. He just sits against that old church wall and watches."

"Don't worry Arabella, Harry will find acceptance in Hogwarts. The magical community has long awaited their saviour, in time he will be reintroduced to magic."

Cutting off the floo call, Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. So Harry Potter was an isolated boy, devoid of love and friendship.

"Come in, Hagrid," Dumbledore said before the groundskeeper could knock.

"I have a task for you, Hagrid, and it's of utmost importance.."

* * *

The next day, there were five envelopes pushed through the crack of the door, all addressed to Harry. Uncle Vernon threw a fit, muttering incoherently with the usual catchphrases: 'spying', 'unnatural', 'bloody owls'. Surely enough, Harry found three owls perched on the windowsill, who refused to move an inch even when Aunt Petunia poked one of them with a hair comb.

For some reason, Uncle Vernon seemed to think outrunning them was a good idea. They packed their bags, checked out of the motel, and were driving on the highway within an hour. When they stopped for lunch, Uncle Vernon was horrified to see an owl sitting on the roof rack. He threw a cup of water on the poor bird, which it evaded by flying away, hooting indignantly.

Minutes turned into hours, and Uncle Vernon's mood grew a lot better as the weather turned worse. He switched the radio on, just as the announcement finished, "... _Better stay in your houses, folks, it's going to be a thunderstorm, the worst one in ten years. That's all for the weather, playing the music requests now_...". Harry didn't know much about music, yet he liked what was playing. He leaned against the door, watching the raindrops race down the window, glad that this would be the last day he would be in his dear relatives' presence.

They finally reached their destination. Harry had to admit, Uncle Vernon outdid himself. He stared at a worn down cottage, in the middle of a lake.

A goddamn lake.

And an impending thunderstorm.

Damn.

Well, no owl would make it to them in such a weather, so all Harry could hope for was a magical intervention.

As night fell, Harry's hope kept diminishing. There was a great chance that his escort might not arrive exactly when he turned eleven. He tossed and turned in the floor, too anxious to sleep. The soft glow from the dials on Dudley's watch showed five minutes to midnight.

Harry stared morosely at the door.

Two minutes.

One minute.

Nothing.

A soft chime from Dudley's watch resonated in the room. Harry watched the door incredulously. He couldn't believe it.

Disappointed, he turned away, ridden with turbulent emotions. What now?

He took a deep breath.

Think.

"BOOM!"

The door to the cottage broke down by the force of a knock; Harry just couldn't stop smiling.

* * *

"Horr'ble weather, in'nit!"

That seemed to do it. Uncle Vernon charged at the intruding giant, rifle in hand, waving it at his face.

"Get out of my property, you're breaking and entering!"

"Oh shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune."

While Harry was enjoying watching his uncle gape like a fish at the blatant disregard shown by the intruder, he couldn't let things slip out of hand.

"Who are you, sir?"

The giant chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.

"Hogwarts..", Harry dawdled.

Uncle Vernon made a rasping noise.

"Yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o'course.."

Harry didn't say a word.

Uncle Vernon's patience seemed to run dry, but before he could speak, Hagrid continued,

"So Harry, meant to give yeh this letter."

Harry stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green-

 _Mr H. Potter,  
_ _The Floor,  
_ _Hut-on-the-Rock,  
_ _The Sea._

He pulled out the letter and read:

 _HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  
_ _Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 _Dear Mr Potter,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books_

 _and equipment_ _._

 _Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall,  
_ _Deputy Headmistress_

Harry glanced at the letter and blurted out instantly, "I accept."

Hagrid seemed pleased as he wrote down a response on a parchment, with a long black quill(!), and tied it to the leg of an owl(!), which he was surprisingly carrying in his pocket.

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth to say something, probably to contradict the decision which Harry made. But he was silenced by Aunt Petunia as she tightened her grip on his arm.

That didn't affect Harry at all, it actually worked in his favour.

He put the first gear of his plan in motion,

"Mr Hagrid, we should leave."

"Yeh want t'go right now?", Hagrid asked, a little uncertain about the weather.

"Yes, Mr Hagrid, we shouldn't overstay our welcome."

Hagrid stood there, studying Uncle Vernon holding a rifle at him, contemplating whether it would be appropriate to deviate from the headmaster's instructions.

"Well, if yeh must," he finally acquiesced, not very happy to go on the return trip so soon.

Harry could have shouted for joy as he led Hagrid outside the shack.

At the door, he turned to face his relatives a final time. His emerald eyes met Petunia's, a look of disapproval clear in hers. He stepped back, and just like that Harry Potter was gone. He didn't say a word of goodbye, but then, the Dursley's never expected him too. After all, he hadn't spoken to any of them for over four years.

* * *

 **So, that's done with. I'm sorry for the delay in this chapter but then things came up that were a little higher in my priority list. Please let me know your thoughts and opinions, and I urge all of you to stick around, I've got great things planned!**

 **Fic Recommendation-** Ahem, most definitely I would recommend Dodging Prison and Stealing Witches, by LeadvonE. It is my favourite piece of fiction, and seriously if you haven't read it, please do so. It features a twisted Time Travelling HP, with an extremely well thought out plan and detailed writing. Do check it out, it has a length of approx. 350k and counting! Perfect weekend investment.


	3. The Sin of Greed

**Disclaimer-** The Wizarding World and all in it belongs to JKR, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros. etc.

 **Author's Note-** Hola! And welcome to chapter 2 of 'A Subtle Approach'. Writing the story is getting easier as the plot starts to progress. I'm particularly happy with how this chapter turned out, and hope that you all like it too. More importantly, I have edited the paragraphing of the Prologue, no drastic changes, just a line here and there. It makes the literature a little more pleasant to read. A Subtle Approach has a cover now, so it's feeling pretty official. As usual, I would like to express my immense gratitude to my beta - Tideturner27. His hibernation is finally over and we can expect a chapter very soon. Please take out some time to check out his story, 'A Blank Canvas'.

 **Beta's Note-** TideTurner27 here, This is my best chapter so far, but then again I'm biased because I love Tracey. As always TheRainyAbe has done an awesome job. Enjoy.

P.S. To those of you that follow my own story, A Blank Canvas, you may expect an update on the next 48 hours.

* * *

 _I paused and took a sip of water that she offered. Her expressions were soft, studying my words and movements with rapt attention._

 _I shouldn't have snapped at her._

 _"I'm sorry, about earlier..."_

 _"Think nothing of it, Harry, take your time... Would you rather not talk about it now?"_

 _I shook my head._

 _She waved her hand and a thin blanket draped itself around my shoulders. It was comforting._

 _"Where did you fall from?"_

 _I reminisced. It was a long time back, all blurry in my head._

 _"That dog was on my heels.. You see, I was six years old, didn't have much sense. There was a tree in the front porch which I used to climb all the time. Sometimes Aunt Petunia used to catch me, and then shout at me. But it was different that day, I didn't care about her reaction. It seemed safe."_

 _I chuckled mirthlessly._

 _"The branch I was holding onto, snapped and I lost balance. Surprisingly, the hard ground cushioned my fall. I wasn't injured. The same, however, could not be said about dear Rippy-pooh."_

 _"Rippy-pooh was the dog chasing you?" She asked, scribbling something on a parchment._

 _"My aunt Marge's dog, Ripper."_

 _I took another sip of water._

 _"Simply said, it vanished. One moment it's jumping at the tree trunk, barking at me, and the next, there is no sign of it, no collar, nothing. I now realise, that it was a burst of accidental magic, but at that moment I didn't know what to think. I had no idea what happened or how it happened. So, obviously, I had to believe them and what they said I was."_

 _She held her breath and looked at me expectantly,_

 _"A freak."_

* * *

 **The Sin of Greed**

"An' then, he went on tellin' a new joke he'd heard, didn't care if Mrs. Bagnol' was pacing 'bout in the room. Somethin' about a hag, a troll and a goblin...". Harry groaned inwards. Professor Dumbledore must have plucked out stars and handed them to Hagrid. He had never seen such devotion towards another person; Unfortunately, Hagrid didn't care whether Harry wanted to hear about the headmaster or not. He just went on and on..

After leaving the extremely compliant Dursleys, they had taken a large wooden boat (a raft, actually, without oars) propelled by magic, to get to the shore. Eager to see more magic, Harry had asked Hagrid to conjure a car. Hagrid, while grinning, simply raised his umbrella, and behold, a huge bus had appeared out of nowhere. Aboard the bus, Hagrid chuckled loudly and explained to a befuddled Harry how the Knight Bus worked. Harry wasn't very pleased about getting tricked, but the rocky journey kept his mind occupied with self-defence. Sporting a lump on his head, where he had hit a window, Harry followed Hagrid to a small roadside tavern, called 'The Leaky Cauldron'. The bar was dimly lit, and it had been hard to see the barkeeper's face. Hagrid being an old customer (and very easy to recognize) got a room immediately, and after the usual greetings, they had retired to their nightly accommodation. No one had spared Harry a second glance.

Harry buried his head into the couch and pulled the pillow over his ears. Hagrid was finally done with the abhorrent joke, and was snoring lightly. Harry sighed in relief and relaxed; tomorrow he would finally arrive in the Wizarding world. He tossed and turned the whole night, different scenarios playing in his head. When he finally did fall asleep, he was rudely shaken awake by Hagrid mere moments later (it felt like moments), but he was too excited to care. He tidied himself up, patted his hair down, and stared at the mirror. With a determined look, he exited the room and walked downstairs.

The corner tavern was much bigger than it looked from the road. The bar faced the street, leaving the steps to the rooms, mostly out of sight. All sorts of folks came to the Leaky Cauldron. An old lady smoking a traditional pipe looked at him, gazing up his face till she saw a glimpse of his scar. Her mouth opened slightly, and the pipe fell off. Hidden from the crowd's view, Harry scurried behind Hagrid, who had exited from the back door.

It was a dead end. As there was no door or window, he wondered if Hagrid was going to blow it up. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can. "Three up…two across…" he muttered.

"Right, stand back, Harry." He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick quivered, and sunk in the wall. The neighbouring bricks followed suit and turned creating a small opening that kept getting larger. Soon, the passage was wide enough for even Hagrid to pass through. Grinning in amazement, Harry entered the bright street, relishing the beauty of the place.

There was so much to see.

Embellished windows, with trinkets on display, banked the stony lane till it bent away out of sight.

"Here it is, Harry, Diagon Alley, we'll fin' everythin' yer need for Hogwarts here." Hagrid smiled at Harry, who was looking around in all directions, keen on taking in all what he was seeing. The place was undoubtedly cheerful.

"We'll be goin' ter Gringotts firs' Harry, the bank. Yeh got yer letter?"

Harry unfolded the second piece of paper he hadn't noticed the night before, and read:

 _HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

 _UNIFORM_

 _First-year students will require:_

 _1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

 _2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

 _3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

 _4\. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)_

 _5\. One dueling robe (no defensive charms)_

 _Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags_

 _COURSE BOOKS_

 _All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

 _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk_

 _A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot_

 _Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_

 _A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore_

 _Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger_

 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander_

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble_

 _Defensive History and Stances by Muric Alpharde._

 _OTHER EQUIPMENT_

 _1 wand_

 _1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

 _1 set of glass or crystal phials_

 _1 telescope set_

 _1 brass scales_

 _1 wand holster (standard)_

 _Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad_

 _PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

Before entering the street, Harry would have doubted the existence of shops that sell these items. Now, he was dead sure they were at the right place. With every step he took, he found something that demanded attention. There were shops selling bat's spleens, eel's eyes, pixie wings, and other strange items (dragon dung!) which Harry had never even heard of. People with pointy hats haggled with the shopkeepers about prices and quality. A board outside the ice-cream shop was making slurping noises, that did induce the craving of a chocolate double cone in Harry's head. Clearly, magic helped reduce the customer acquisition costs. "Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour.." Harry murmured. He would be back.

Hagrid had to nudge him every few seconds, as Harry stopped quite a lot to look around. "..The Nimbus 2000, the fastest broom yet!", an excited shrill voice exclaimed, which redirected Harry's path once again. He ran to the shop and read the sign - 'Quality Quidditch Supplies'.

Quidditch? That was new.

He pressed his nose against the glass, staring at the gleaming broom, with its name etched in gold on the handle. The girl beside him was literally jumping in joy, "It just arrived today," she told anyone who cared to listen (this case, just Harry), "I had been waiting a month for it!"

"Do you know how to fly?" asked Harry.

"Duh, ofcourse, I have a Comet, it's a little old, but the handling is to die for. I bet I could fly loops around you," she smirked.

Harry just chuckled.

"That wouldn't be very hard though," Harry mused, "I've never flown before.."

Aghast, she turned to face him, her mouth open in horror.

"Really? My, you do know about quidditch though, don't you?" She sounded so distraught, that Harry almost felt guilty when he shook his head.

"Well, we have to change that..."

That's when Hagrid reappeared.

"Don't yer go running off like that. Been lookin all around for yeh." It so happened that when Harry ran off, Hagrid had his back turned to greet someone. "But, to think 'bout it, it should've been quite easy to find yeh, y'know, yer father was a great Quidditch player."

That set of the girl once again.

"At Hogwarts? My parents might know him! Who is he?"

"James Potter," Harry said proudly, "and I'm Harry".

Her expressions changed slowly, her eyes widened, and suddenly she found it incredibly difficult to form a coherent sentence, "You're... Harry.. Potter, as in The Harry Potter? My name is.. I'm Harr - I mean - I'm Tracey, Tracey Davis."

There was brief moment of silence, after which Tracey's eyes widened further, if it was even possible, "And _you_ don't know what's Quidditch!" She practically screamed the last part. And like that, the old Tracey was back again.

Hagrid took out a giant pocket watch from somewhere in his coat. It didn't have any sort of dials or numbers, but Hagrid seemed to understand what he was looking at.

"We have work t'do, Harry, things to shop fer, yeh talk to yer friend later."

"Sure, I'll meet you on the train," Tracey quickly answered, and took off. "Astoria will turn green with envy...", it almost seemed that her monologue never stopped. Her voice was soon lost among the din of the street.

"Train?", Harry asked Hagrid once the girl was out of earshot, regretting the question almost immediately.

"Ol' Hogwarts Express, Harry", Hagrid explained. "Yer ride ter Hogwarts from King's Cross, everyone boards it. Yeh would know 'bout that, that's the only way students reach the school." Nudging Harry forward, Hagrid began to fish his pockets muttering something under his breath.

Harry vowed to explore every inch of the place, but he currently had a priority.

He had to visit the Wizarding Bank, Gringotts.

Gringotts was a white, imperial building at the end of the alley. It had huge doors and arches, with pillars supporting the disjoint roof. Standing at the grand bronze door was a strange creature, wearing a scarlet and gold uniform, with a pointy face and ears.

Harry's first introduction with a magical creature - "A goblin," he whispered.

"Nasty creatures, goblins," Hagrid said, "greedy an' crooked, the bunch of 'em. Stay sharp now, Harry."

The goblin bowed as they entered the establishment. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

 _Enter, stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

 _For those who take, but do not earn,_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn._

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_

 _Of finding more than treasure there._

Harry drew in a sharp breath.

"Yer be mad ter try an' rob a goblin, their laws are differen', easy ter offend too." Evidently, Hagrid didn't hold goblins in high regards. They walked past a couple more goblins at the doors, and reached the central hall. Hundreds of goblins sat behind the imposing counters, busy with their work, examining gems, counting coins, writing deeds. "All official work's handled by Gringotts," Hagrid continued, "it's bes' yeh stay quiet, Harry."

They approached a bespectacled goblin teller who was busy writing something on a rough yellowish parchment, not unlike his Hogwarts acceptance letter. Hagrid cleared his throat noisily, which was not very tactful, but clearly the best one could hope for considering Hagrid's blunt goblin looked up, clearly disappointed. "Morning," said Hagrid. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's safe."

"Key?" The goblin asked adjusting his spectacles.

"Here." Hagrid handed a small golden key to the teller. Harry couldn't help but notice a letter, tied up with a string, which Hagrid was clutching rather tightly. The goblin examined the key under a large lens. "Everything seems to be in order," he said curtly, "Griphook!". A younger goblin hurriedly made way to the teller whispering sharply in an unknown language. Hagrid cleared his throat again.

"There's something else. Professer Dumbledore sir, sent this letter addressed ter yer. Hogwarts business." There was a hint of pride in his voice. The goblin accepted the letter, and scanned it slowly. He turned back to Griphook and said something incomprehensible. The young goblin made a face but accepted.

"Follow me!"

The golden key was still on the counter, but the goblin made no effort to hand it to either him or Hagrid. Hagrid was busy tying up the letter with a string, and he didn't notice Harry edge closer to it.

"Is that key mine?", Harry asked the teller, looking straight in his eyes. Beside him, Hagrid tensed up, tightening the grip on his umbrella. The older goblin leaned front, entwined his fingers and whispered, "The vault and all in it belongs to Harry James Potter."

That was rather straightforward.

"Why was the key not with me, then?", Harry inquired.

With a vicious smile, the goblin responded, "Why indeed..."

There was a brief silence and Harry could have sworn that everything had gone still in the bank. The goblin never left eye contact, and the eerie grin plastered to his face gave Harry the impression that he was enjoying himself. A few seconds passed, and Hagrid finally took control. "I'll take the key fer now, al'right Harry? Professer Dumbledore gave it ter me, an' yeh can ask him about it." Harry nodded, and then quickly turned away. The bank duties resumed just as quickly as they had stopped. They followed Griphook through a large door. Harry, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in, and were off.

* * *

About half an hour later, Harry and Hagrid (who looked pretty sick after the cart ride) exited the bank. Harry, initially, was startled by his inheritance, but he did a good job masking it. He couldn't afford to make any more mistakes, lest in front of Hagrid. It was better that Hagrid believed what he presumed, that way, no one would pry into Harry's life. Nevertheless, the strange rock-like package intrigued him. It had to be valuable, given the level of security. And Hagrid was unusually mum about it, that was strange too.

"Al'right there, Harry?" In no way did Hagrid look alright, "Them blasted carts make me all sor' of wobbly. Listen, I'll head over ter th' Cauldron, fer a pick-em-up, yer go on ter Ma'am Malkin's fer yer robes an' such. It's easy ter get there, yer follow this road, take righ' at Flourish an' Blots, if yeh see Ollivander's, yeh have come too far." Harry nodded enthusiastically, sooner Hagrid was gone the better. Hagrid patted him on the back and waddled through the crowd. Harry waited for a bit, and as soon as Hagrid was out of sight, he turned around and marched right back into Gringotts.

This time, Harry tried to play his cards right. He went back to the same teller, and waited for a response. The goblin looked up after a while and pushed aside the deed he was working on.

"Yes, Mr. Potter."

Harry stood up straight and toughened up his speech with a condescending tone. With his head held high, he spoke briskly, "I would like to talk about my vault and all that's in it. It will be frank now, as my escort is no longer here." He did cut an imposing figure, but then his chin barely reached the counter. The goblin studied him thoroughly, and suddenly spoke, "Take a seat, Mr Potter. You can call me Sharptooth."

So far so good. Harry pulled a stool out and sat.

"Right," Harry began, "Firstly, could you tell me how the currency works?"

Sharptooth took a deep breath.

"The gold coins you see, they're wizarding galleons. The silver ones are wizarding sickles. 17 sickles make a galleon. The bronze coins are knuts, 29 knuts for a sickle. The muggle currency exchange rate for Gringotts is, 25 pounds for a galleon if muggles buy, 15 pounds for a galleon if we buy." He grinned maliciously.

Harry paused to think. The size of a galleon was large. A gold nugget of the same weight would value at a quadruple price! It was easy... Buy a galleon, melt it, sell it for 4 times the price at a muggle establishment, buy more galleons. First, he would need to establish a link in the muggle world, smuggle some galleons, sell it in bursts to avoid suspicion, then...

"I know what you're thinking, Mr Potter." Harry's froze. He mentally cursed himself; being in a foreign territory, he had let his guard down. Reinforcing his mental shields, he looked up nonchalantly, "Sorry?"

The goblin was unnerved, he continued, " Mr Potter, if everything was so easy, why hasn't it been done before?"

Harry was too shocked to speak.

"Every once a while, the same idea occurs to people, who think they can exploit our exchange system. If it was possible, it would have been done already. You're in luck Mr. Potter, that you have been deterred quite early."

"But..", Harry stammered.

"Beware, Mr. Potter, the sin of greed."

The feral grin Sharptooth gave Harry evaporated all that was left of his courage. "Okay," Harry squeaked. Regaining his composure, he asked genuinely, "What services can Gringotts provide?"

With a very smug expression, Sharptooth began to talk, "Gringotts provides the finest of services. All legal disputes, transactions, mail orders, portkeys and vaults. But, our premium services do not come cheap."

This was getting more and more convenient. Harry asked his final question, "How much do I own?"

"You're a minor, Mr. Potter, your transactions can be made only from your personal vault, and not from the Potter Family vault. We can have that discussion when you're of age. And as for how much you own..", he signaled a fellow door-goblin and asked for something. After a while, two door-goblins brought a huge register of sorts (it looked quite heavy) and placed it on the counter. Sharptooth rummaged through the pages, though it seemed futile, all of them were blank. He stopped a blank page (obviously), looking quite satisfied, and asked for Harry's blood.

Blood?

"A drop will do, Mr Potter, use this quill."

Harry stared dumbly at the black quill he was holding. Was he supposed to poke himself? Thinking logically, he leaned forward and pressed the tip of the quill to the fading page of the ledger. He felt a slight itch at the back of his hand, and a drop of blood appeared on the page." Harry looked on, fascinated, as the blood was absorbed in the paper, and in a neat handwriting, words started to form.

 _Harry James Potter._

 _Vault 687._

 _Key in possession of Albus Dumbledore, Magical Guardian._

 _Last Withdrawal or Deposit- 1 hr, 17 mins._

 _7750 galleons._

 _2730 sickles._

 _119 knuts._

"This is what you own, Mr Potter."

Harry was lost in thoughts. Magical Guardian? In what other ways was Albus Dumbledore influencing his life? There were so many things he didn't know, it was almost frightening. Visibly shaken, he said, "I want a new key to my vault, please change the old lock. I assume all of my Gringotts correspondence reaches my guardian, that needs to stop too. Please direct it to me. Moreover, I need a room at a muggle establishment for a month, with all necessities, ideally near King's Cross Station. And a mode of transportation to the hotel, of course. The rest can be discussed by letters, I hope?"

Sharptooth made a note and nodded. "It will be done in some time. Payment of 14 galleons and 10 sickles, Mr Potter, or is it too much for you?" Harry shook his head and approved the withdrawal.

Harry seemed a little shaken after the encounter, and spoke softly, "I would like to thank you Mr Sharptooth, I don't suppose you are this considerate to everyone." Surprisingly, Sharptooth didn't take offence, "But then, you're not a usual client now, are you, Mr Potter." He signalled to the door-goblin again, who escorted Harry back to the front door. The goblin bowed to Harry as he left the building. Harry groaned as soon as he was out. Hagrid, who was carrying two ice creams (half melted), approached him looking quite mad.

"Yeh've done it again, Harry, gone nutters lookin' fer yeh, Professer McGonagall would have my hide if some'ing was ter happen ter yeh." Harry mumbled something about getting lost. "It's me fault, I should've stayed with yeh. Blimey, it's an easy street ter remember, but then, yer new ter it. Come'on now."

Harry followed Hagrid through the crowd, trying to keep up with the conversation, but his mind was still stuck in the words of the ledger.

* * *

 **Another chapter down. What did you all think? Please review and let me know. I think I've hit a sort of sweet spot with the chapter length of 3.5k words. I'll try to keep it to this and increase my speed of posting instead. Thanks for reading.**

 **Fic recommendation-** I would love to recommend 'The Walk', by ParadoxicalAnomaly. It's tragic that the fic hasn't been updated for a long time, and it might be abandoned, but it's my best Haphne story. I've read it nine times. The character buildup is amazing, and it was a very pleasant read while it lasted.


	4. Works of Fiction

**Disclaimer-** The Wizarding World and all in it belongs to JKR, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros. etc.

 **Author's Note-** Greetings! I would like to apologize for the long delay in putting up this chapter. I recently joined college, and my fresher curriculum keeps me tremendously busy. Anyhoo, I loved the way this chapter turned out, and I hope you'll enjoy it too. Regards from Tideturner27, my faithful beta, who's close on finishing the next chapter of his story; guy's on fire. Please check it out if you haven't done so. On a side note, nine years ago, on this very day, when we were 10, Tideturner27 and I officially became friends. We had a long discussion about it (his idea, don't ask). This chapter is a toast to that.

 **Beta's Note-** Tracey is too damn awesome.

* * *

 _Aren't therapy sessions just wonderful._

 _I clenched my fingers around the glass to try and stop my hands from shivering. I could no longer breathe freely, my mind racing back to the thoughts associated with the blasted word._

 _"Freak... What gives them the right to brand someone. ", I muttered to myself._

 _With a resounding crash, a decoration fell off the mantle._

 _"They blamed me for it all, for that dog, for Dudley's failed assignments, for Uncle Vernon's problems at work.. Aunt Marge wanted me to be shipped off, obviously, thrown in some orphanage.. But they couldn't do it. You know why? Because of Albus Dumbledore." I spat the last part. I was shaking rather violently now, but her gaze never left my eyes. Amongst the clatter of falling porcelain, downed shrieks of people in paintings and a low din that surrounded the air, I somehow continued to talk, "They called me a juvenile, someone who deserved nothing. No matter how much I pleaded, trying to justify myself, that I wasn't a killer. I sought solace.. Where was Dumbledore then? A six year old should never have to look in the mirror and hate his reflection." My voice cracked and I slumped back, too tired to speak._

 _She looked absolutely torn._

* * *

 **Works of fiction**

Harry grudgingly made way to the next stop. Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions, a smallish shop displaying mannequins dancing in fancy apparels. Hagrid had gone another way, probably to get him quills, cauldrons and such. He had received clear instructions this time, get his measurements taken, and meet up at Flourish and Blotts, no detours. He wasn't planning to take any more side tours either way, he didn't want to push his luck. He looked at the blue shop distastefully. Harry never liked clothes shops, probably because his relatives never bought him anything, just made him carry the bags.

Sighing dramatically, he entered the building, setting off a soft bell. From an adjoint room, a strict-looking matron made her appearance, "Hogwarts, dear?"

Harry nodded.

Her gaze followed him from his shoes to his ragged clothes and finally rested on his scar. Without blinking an eye, she ushered him into the fitting room, setting him down on one of the waiting stools. There were two large boys getting their measurements taken by floating inch tapes. One of them grunted to him in acknowledgement, while the other ignored him. Harry wondered if he should grunt back, but decided against it.

He patted his hair down and looked to his left. Sitting next to him was a girl of his age with her nose buried in a tome. It was one of those history books that Harry wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. She would turn the pages methodically, and swing her legs back and forth, blissfully unaware of his presence. As the nervous seconds ticked on, Harry decided to finally break the ice, "Hogwarts too?", he asked.

Startled, she looked up, and then looked around, as if to confirm whether she was being spoken to. "Yes," she answered with a bright smile. She shut her book soundly and dropped it in her bag. Glancing at his mundane apparel, she leaned forward and asked in a soft, hesitant tone, "Are you new to all this too? I mean.. Magic?

Harry nodded.

Relief flooded her face as she responded, "Thank God I found someone new to it. It's so much to take in, isn't it? I have read ahead, mind you, can't take a risk. Can you imagine how far behind we must be! I bet we'll be at the back of our class. What a nightmare!" Her expressions slowly softened and grew wistful, "...but then it's magic, right, it's so surreal!

Harry didn't know what surreal even meant.

She looked up to see him smiling at her enthusiasm, and her stream of sentences faltered. With a slightly pink face, she changed the topic, "I was wondering, people here don't like us much, do they?"

"Who?"

"The residents of Magical Britain." Her voice was low again, "the people who grew up with magic."

Harry reflected back on the brief conversation he had with the Quidditch girl. She seemed fine. "I haven't talked to many people here, but I found the ones I met to be quite nice."

She peered at the two bulky boys, who now had their measurements nearly done, and continued, "I had the displeasure of having a conversation with them and another boy, sometime back. He asked me my title, whatever that meant, to which I introduced myself as Hermione Granger." She took a deep breath. "That blond chimp then sneered at me, and told me that I'll learn my place soon.. I don't know if that was normal, but I certainly didn't appreciate being talked to like that."

"Really...", Harry scoffed absently. Lost in his thoughts, Harry extended his hand and introduced himself, "Hello Hermione, I'm Harry Potter."

There was a brief pause where Hermione registered what she just heard. With wide eyes, she shook his hand and exclaimed excitedly, "Really?! I've read about you everywhere! Though you really aren't how I thought you would be - _Hold on_ , you told me that you're new to magic, but then there are so many books about your adventures. Just a second.." She wrestled the book open and turned the pages hurriedly. She tucked in a lock of hair behind her ear, as she reached the desired page. She looked at him worriedly, watching his expressions change as he stared wide-eyed at the blatant lies written about him and his life.

* * *

Not far from where a certain bushy haired witch made her first genuine friend in the Wizarding World, Daphne Ophelia Greengrass, heiress to the Noble and Ancient House of Greengrass, struggled with the task her parents had given her.

"Come on, Tori, don't be so difficult. Why on Earth would we need a solid gold cauldron!" She adjusted her purse with one hand, trying to pull her sister off the glass display with the other.

"We need to get it, Daph, it's so shiny!", Astoria Greengrass, younger sister of the said heiress, responded. Daphne stamped her foot on the cobbled street; she was losing precious time and she obviously couldn't leave her sister stuck to the display of Potage's Cauldron Shop.

"Just yesterday, when you cooked up those ticklish fumes in that brown cauldron, you lectured me about carrier inertness. Let's get the gold cauldron, Daphne!", Astoria pouted, her eyes following the cauldron animatedly as her sister shook her.

Daphne gave her a pointed look. "Your reasons are getting absurd, Tori, sometime back you wanted a Nimbus 2000 to rescue a partridge stuck on our roof. Remember, father gave us an hour, let's go. Oh, don't make that face now." Daphne sighed, "Fine, let's come to an agreement, Lady Macvity informed me that you have your WOMBATS in a week. If you score an O, I'll buy you your cauldron. I won't even tell mother." Lady Macvity was a high-end primary educator, the best person for the job. Most noble heirs receive their preschool education personally from her.

"You're the only person I know who has got an O," Astoria grumbled. Tugging her sister, Daphne made way across the shop, walking hurriedly through the crowded street.

"What's the hurry, Daph? No one tells me anything.." Astoria looked around as they passed Flourish and Blotts. "Are we going to Ollivander's?"

Daphne gave a determined nod. She didn't have a wand yet. After trying wands after wands, Mr Ollivander had asked for some more time, to find a right match. Due to prior appointments, she had to delay her purchase then, but now, she had to find a wand. She refused to admit it, but a latent fear prowled deep in her thoughts, that maybe she might never wield a wand, maybe she would never be chosen...

Needless to say, her work trumped Astoria's cauldron fascinations.

Ollivander's was the last shop in the street. Below the worn out, meticulous sign, lay a bench for elderly people to sit on. Currently, a mousey brown haired witch stood on top of it, gazing at the crowd intently. As the two sisters came in view, she jumped down, tapping her feet in anticipation as they approached the wand shop.

"Daphne, Tori! There you are! I've been waiting for sooo long (ten minutes) for you..." Tracey hugged her childhood friend and pinched Astoria's cheek.

"Blame this little devil here, she has the attention span of a bowtruckle,"

With a mischievous smile, Tracey pulled Astoria out of her grasp and nudged Daphne to the door. Astoria stuck out her tongue at her.

"Ready for a wand, Daph?"

Daphne smiled nervously at them. This was it. The moment she had been waiting for, as well as dreading for a long time. With turbulent emotions, she entered the dark store.

* * *

"But these books are written by respectable authors, Harry - are you telling me all of them are false?!"

"Hermione, I have lived in a non-magical home all my life. I have done _nothing_ that these books state, these... these are works of fiction, don't believe everything you read." Harry felt immensely disappointed. His privacy had been shredded to bits, stories spurned for entertainment, it was just not right.

"I can't believe it,"Hermione stared bitterly at the book, " they had no right..".

Madam Malkin chose to appear then and ushered them on the vacant footstools at the centre of the room. The floating measuring tapes distracted Harry long enough to get his mind off the delusive books. He chatted happily with Hermione as they had their measurements taken. Harry asked for a standard set of uniform. The duelling robe appealed most to him. It was like the daily robes, but light on the knees, and with a vibrant green border (they could choose colours).

It was an overwhelming feeling; clothes were always a sore spot for Harry. Towards the later part of his time with the Dursleys, though they had turned civil towards him, they never cared about his appearance. Not that Harry expected them to. However, wearing proper clothes boosted his self-esteem in an instant. He felt like he belonged. Things were different now, he no longer had to rely on the Dursleys, and he could buy all he needed if he needed it. It was a very satisfying moment for him.

Hermione was all too glad to accompany him to Flourish and Blotts, once they had their uniforms ready and packed. That was a stroke of luck for Harry, as she knew the embellished bookstore like the back of her hand. She guided him through the maze of shelves, and he had all his books sorted in record time. Hagrid hadn't arrived yet, so they had plenty of time to kill. Harry started to look around, hoping to find something of interest. He finally settled on a book, approaching it not for the title, but for the author. _How to Save Gold from Wizards and Keep It_ , by _Grulis V. Gringott_.

Interesting.

A book on finance written by a goblin. A steal if there ever was one. What startled Harry was the price. It alone cost him thrice the amount he paid for his course books. Packing up his purchases, he joined Hermione near the door, waiting for Hagrid to show up.

* * *

"10 and a half inches, elm wood, dragon heartstring."

Crash!

Mr Ollivander looked around in the stack of boxes.

"11 inches, cedar, dragon heartstring, a Slovakian Swishbelly to be precise."

Astoria ducked as a box went flying at her.

"Tricky customer.. no worries, no worries... Here, 10 and a half inches, maple, unicorn hair."

The wand looked menacing. It had a red streak towards the point, giving it a bloodshot look. It felt warm in her hands and reeked of power. Daphne frowned as she held it.

"Ironic, maybe I was going about this wrong.. maple is fickle, yet supple. But will it work? Yes, nearly there, this might just work, how ironic.. 10 and a half inches, alder wood, unicorn hair."

The wand was beautiful, a light texture stretched from the middle to the handle, where it turned white as snow. When Daphne held it, she felt complete, an incredible elation, as if reunited with a lost friend. Bright sparks emerged out of the end, and she knew that she had been chosen. The intense ordeal left her weak on her knees, and she couldn't stop shaking.

Mr Ollivander just smiled at her, and whispered, "Take good care of it, Ms Greengrass. And that, with a holster, will be 9 galleons."

Daphne blinked back tears and fished out the necessary amount. "Thank you," she breathed, her voice coming out cracked. She moved back, towards the door, and exited in a hurry. Tracey and Astoria followed her out, and enveloped her in a hug. Daphne held them tight. Nothing mattered to her more than her family, and she would never let anything happen to them.

"Alright, all of this is getting very sappy," Tracey murmured, wiping her eyes, " this calls for a celebration." Astoria giggled. "Florean's, it is," Daphne said, her voice stable again.

* * *

"Only yer wand left now, eh Harry?"

Wiping tears off his face, Harry smiled at him, as they walked down from the bookstore to Ollivander's. After penning down her phone number, Hermione had left for The Leaky Cauldron to meet up with her parents. Apparently, she had bought a wand a few months back when she turned eleven. Hagrid had done a great job with the school supplies, and Harry was now a proud owner of an A-12 Standard Trunk (lightweight). Residing atop the trunk, was a snowy white owl, asleep in her cage. It was a birthday present, from Hagrid, the very first present Harry had received. Harry had barely thanked him, that he choked up, getting watery eyed.

"Ollivander's is the bes' place fer wands, and yeh've gotta have the bes' wand," Hagrid said, giving Harry a (huge) one-armed hug.

The crowd thinned out towards the end of the street, giving Hagrid enough room to walk without any collisions. For the briefest instant, Harry thought he saw a familiar face in the crowd. He turned back, and looked around, failing to recognize anyone. He must have imagined it. Soon, Ollivander's came into sight.

The shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

The door opened with a squeak, spreading light in the dusty, dark room. Harry entered the shop, engulfed in the eerie ambience, eager to buy his wand. Hagrid squeezed himself through the door and shut it roughly. As minutes ticked by, evening fell and the lamp-posts banking the street were lit. The day stalls started to wind up their business, and the jolly crowds shifted from the streets to taverns and pubs.

The young wizard exited the store a while later, gazing at his holly wand with mixed emotions. Stowing it away in his new wand holster, he cross referenced his list one final time. On the other hand, Hagrid was fidgeting nervously with his giant pocket watch.

"Yeh've bought ev'rything yer gonna need, Harry, now all's left is teh drop yeh at your house."

Harry wondered if the Dursleys had even reached Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon had definitely gone all out running away from Surrey, to avoid those owls. Harry wasn't planning on going back anyway, so it didn't actually matter. He didn't miss Hagrid's constant glances at the watch, and repetitive pats on the rocky package Hagrid took from Gringott's.

It wasn't difficult.

"Mr Hagrid, it's late, you must be in a hurry to get back. Why don't we split here? I know the way back to the Leaky Cauldron by heart. On the main road, I'll take the Knight bus to Surrey."

Hedwig hooted, making Harry smile.

Hagrid was perplexed. He surely was late, and the package he was carrying... It wasn't safe.

"I'm sure the work Professor Dumbledore has given you is very important. Please don't delay it on my account."

Hook, line, sinker.

All doubts vanished from Hagrid's face. He obviously couldn't be late for any of the headmaster's tasks.

"Yer a good lad, Harry. Take care of yerself. If them Dursleys give yeh any problem, write ter me. I'll see yeh at the Hogsmeade station." Smiling at Harry, he turned back sharply and walked away at a ridiculously fast pace.

Harry smiled to himself as he saw his kind-hearted escort depart. Patting his hair down, he pulled his trunk across the street. Inconspicuously, he walked all the way to Gringott's. The lightweight trunk levitated itself on the marble staircase, making it very convenient to manoeuvre it around. Sharptooth was standing at the bronze doors, waiting for him.

Harry gulped.

"Your arrangements are ready, Mr Potter."

Harry thanked Sharptooth as he was led to the floo chamber. He received clear instructions about floo travel and was repeatedly assured that it was completely safe as long as the enunciation was right.

"And Mr Potter, here is something for you, please do accept it." Sharptooth handed Harry a brownish pouch. "It's a mokeskin pouch, wizards find it extremely useful."

Harry was out of words. He couldn't understand why he was being treated so preferentially from a member of a so-called violent and sacrilegious race. He brushed his fingers across the material. It was surprisingly soft, and velvety, and by the looks of it, certainly very expensive.

"But...", Harry was cut off, yet again.

"It's a special day for you, Mr. Potter, in many aspects." Sharptooth summoned a bit of parchment, with an address written neatly on it. Handing it over to Harry, who was on the verge of tears once again, he picked up the powder bowl, and ushered Harry into the fireplace. With a swirl of green fire and a clear address pronunciation, Harry Potter was gone.

Sharptooth went back to his counter, walking at a slower pace. He rested his elbows on top of it, reminiscing about the past. Sighing softly, he wondered if he had done enough for young Harry Potter. There weren't many wizards whom he was on cordial terms with, yet there was one whom he greatly respected. And Sharptooth was nothing if not true to his word.

It wasn't too late.

The debt could still be cleared.

* * *

 **That winds up the chapter, and pretty much most of the pre-Hogwarts part of the story. I may publish a bonus chapter giving little peeks in the Greengrass Manor, still contemplating, and would love to hear your opinions. I welcome all reviews, criticism and thoughts. I hope this chappie was to your liking. RainyAbe, signing out!**

 **Fic Recommendation-** Any Haphne fan worth his/her salt must have read this story already, but still, I just have to recommend it. Things We Do for Love, by James Spookie, a fanfiction that made me fall in love with this particular pairing. If you haven't read it yet, please do so, you'll not be disappointed!


	5. In for a knut

**Disclaimer-** The Wizarding World and all in it belongs to JKR, Bloomsbury. Warner Bros. etc.

 **Author's Note-** Hello again. I must apologize for the delay, but this chapter was far more challenging to write than any of the previous ones. It's a little shorter too, but I felt that I had done adequate justice to it in limited words. My next update will be late too, I have exams and all, fresher curriculum's all very dull. Thanks to my beta, Tideturner27, who as always, outdid himself in the job I don't pay him for. Do check out his story, if you get the time.

 **Beta's Note-** This is my best chapter so far, I know I say that in every chapter but it keeps getting better and better (in my opinion). I'd love to hear your thoughts.

* * *

 _My mind crumbled like a house of cards as a barrage of memories overpowered me. Burying my face in my hands, I broke down into tears. I felt vulnerable; It was as if a dam had burst, and I had no power to stop the flow._

 _Even with the ensuing pandemonium around, she carried herself with grace as she made her way to where I was seated. She had a soft expression, and her eyes couldn't hide her emotions._

 _Sorrow._

 _I didn't need her thrice-damned pity._

 _My cheeks were pressed together exposing a bit of my tongue. A small blue vial flew to her hands and its contents were dipped into my mouth._

 _A sweet, astringent taste._

 _Calming draught..._

 _With a slight frown, she waved her hand again, summoning a clear vial. She shook it in a frenzy and poured it in my mouth._

 _Draught of peace?_

 _The room had lost all it's furnishing now, with the damage getting worse by the second. She looked around, bewildered, unable to understand why nothing was working. Desperate, she summoned a vial of a pale turquoise liquid, one I recognised at sight._

 _The draught of living death(!)_

 _That's probably illegal to use without authorization._

 _Maybe she was authorized to use it._

 _Potions don't actually work on me, at least when I want them not to work. She found that out the hard way._

 _It seemed rather anticlimactic when a stunner hit me square on the face._

* * *

 **In for a knut**

Albus Dumbledore stared pensively at Hagrid's retreating figure. Fidgeting with an odd trinket on his table, he waited for floo to flare. Arabella's report was due any moment now. He was anxious to hear about Harry's return to the Dursley household. His meeting with Hagrid had gone far worse than he could imagine. Hagrid leaving Harry midway had complicated the situation needlessly. Moreover, Hagrid's description of the teen was so very different than what he had anticipated. Hagrid had a fine opinion about Harry, describing him as polite and charming - _'jus' like 'is mother'_. He failed to mention any sort of nervousness, or longing, or awe. If anything, Harry was precise in manipulating his words and was in control of the situation at all times.

That was unexpected.

What alarmed him was the possibility, that Harry might not have been completely secluded from the Wizarding World. It had been difficult to leave him at the Dursley doorstep that night, but there had been no other option. The time hadn't been right before. Harry could find himself completely misguided by the darkness of magical Britain. It was crucial that Harry adapted slowly, and more importantly, with the right guidance.

But then, why wasn't Harry astounded by the magical turn of events.

The floo turned green - Dumbledore walked briskly to the fire, as Arabella Figg's face slowly converged in the flames.

"He never made it back, Albus."

The silence that followed was palpable.

* * *

Far from prying eyes of meddling old men, Harry crouched behind a chair, holding up his wand rather foolishly as he waited for some unknown danger to present itself. He had been caught off guard by that kind goblin (an oxymoron, plain as day), and now, was in the absolute mercy of whoever owned the lodging. The Mokeskin pouch (it was empty) lay on the bed, in clear range of Harry's wand, susceptible to be blasted to smithereens if a problem arose. Harry didn't want to stress on the fact that he didn't actually know any spells, he would figure something out.

After hiding for a while, he tiptoed to the door, opening it slowly. Taking a deep breath, he peeked outside the door, to find two bulbous eyes stare right back at him. He jerked away in shock, falling on his back. Yelling out in panic, he scrambled back on his fours, as the big-eyed creature entered his room.

"Lofty doesn't mean any harm to Harry Potter, sir. Lofty has been sent to escort Harry Potter to dinner."

"Dinner?!", Harry exclaimed, "Just where on Earth am I? And who are you?" He paused for a moment. "What are you?"

"Me is being Lofty sir, head elf of Master Fawley's houses. Master will see you now. Please follow me."

Harry silently contemplated his choices. Any plan he could think of, required a certain amount of skill, with a certain brown wand. Or... he could make a run for it. Or, push the elf out, shut the door and poke the fireplace till it turned green. Maybe, take the elf hostage and demand to be escorted out of the premise. Each thought was more ridiculous than the last. Finally, he decided to push his suspicions aside, and trust Sharptooth's judgement. The same old _'If he had wanted to harm me, he would have done so by now'_ philosophy. Placing his wand back in his holster, he tidied himself up, wore the pouch around his neck and followed the composed creature down the hallway.

The residence was magnificent. Like a picturesque scene copied from a Victorian drama, Harry felt as if he had entered a palace. The corridors were wide and well lit, with chandeliers adorning the ceiling every few metres. The escort led Harry down a flight of stairs to a grand dining hall, embellished in a similar fashion, with ornate mantelpieces and expensive china put up for display.

The table had been set for three, with two spots already occupied by a middle-aged man, and a lady. There was an air of sophistication that surrounded them.. hell, the entire ambience reeked of class. Looking at their attire, Harry felt horribly underdressed. The elf bowed and disappeared, as Harry's host got up to greet him.

"Welcome, Mr Potter. I'm Lord Marcus Fawley, the owner of this residential establishment. Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Eleanor Fawley."

Harry blinked.

The Dursley's had a strict policy of hiding Harry from public eyes and lived by it religiously during festivals and visitations. Growing up, Harry had minimal interactions with people in a formal setting. That worked out fine for the Dursley's, and to some extent, even for Harry who had never imagined that he would be in such a situation, so soon. Evidently so, as he stood there blinking owlishly, wondering what his first sentence should be. Sensing his apprehension, Lady Fawley nodded in acknowledgement, which Harry returned gratefully. Stepping up, he shook his host's hand, and said hesitantly, "Thank you for having me here, sir, ma'am. I hope it's not an inconvenience..."

"Nothing of that sort, please have a seat." Harry sat beside Lord Fawley, his movements a little stiff. "Sharptooth gave me this address, I didn't imagine that I'd reach the room directly from the floo, thought it would have some more... er, formalities."

Lord Fawley chuckled while dressing the quail dish and placing a generous slice on Harry's plate. "I must apologize for my friend in that regard. Goblins tend to be a little wary about their time, so they skip the details. This is one of the many establishments the Fawleys own. We are currently in Central London; However, Eleanor will be leaving for Southampton tomorrow..."

Harry nodded, relief surged through him considerably as Lord Fawley continued to describe the hotels.

"..Due to the high standards, we yearn to maintain, it isn't possible for us to host more than 5 guests in our lodgings, at any given point of time..."

No one called them hotels here. Must be because of the mundane sense of the word.

"..We do have other guests here, you may bump into them, but they are all French and German ministerial ambassadors..."

Lady Fawley piped in her opinions every once a while, indulging Harry in small talk. Harry picked up important information during the conversation - the stay was charged 17 galleons a day (!). He had the liberty of leaving whenever he wanted, and all transportation would be arranged. As Harry wanted to remain out of sight of crowds, Lord Fawley suggested that any purchase in Diagon Alley should be made by Lofty.

What piqued Harry's interest were the service rates goblins charged when any purchase was made indirectly. Say, if he were to buy an item, and pay for it out of his pocket, it might cost him a galleon. The same purchase, if done by a third party, and the money paid directly from his vault, would cost him an extra 5% Gringotts service charge. In this case 25 knuts (goblins never round down anything). It might not sound much, but on the contrary, one could buy a Nimbus 2000, and get a low-class Cleensweep with it just with the extra 5%.

Harry made a mental note never to send unpaid bills to Gringotts.

"... call for Lofty as per your convenience. Do you have any muggle money with you?"

Harry shook his head as he was brought back into the conversation.

" Alright, that can be sorted tomorrow. Now, staying alone might be a little dull, so Harry, feel free to roam the city, visit parks... you aren't a prisoner here." Lord Fawley concluded his monologue, looking straight at Harry, reassuring him of his unsaid anxiety.

Harry smiled back at his hosts and finished his dessert. Wishing them well, he took his leave and made way to his room. Not room, he corrected his suite. His extremely expensive, _'17 galleons a day'_ , crazy suite. Quoting Gringott from the first chapter in his book... _'In for a knut, in for a galleon'_. Very apt.

* * *

The last time Minerva McGonagall had received midnight summons from the headmaster, Professor Corvay had been found obliviated, by the aurors, and the Defence position had once again been vacant. A month after the tragic incident, the resident muggle studies professor, Quirinus Quirrell had gallantly asked to be considered for the position. He had repeatedly assured her that his newly acquired speech impediment will not affect the quality of education that Hogwarts provides. She had then acquiesced to his requests, largely because of the fact that no one other than Gilderoy Lockhart had applied for the job.

Lost in her thoughts, she waited for the staircase to stop shifting as she made way to the Headmaster's tower.

On accepting Professor Quirrell's assignment to another subject, she found it upon herself to find a suitable muggle studies professor. She didn't have to look far, as one of her prized students, Charity Burbage had asked to be remembered if any position opens up in the near future. Much to her own satisfaction, Charity was an exemplary student and even a better mentor. With the teaching staff all set for another year, she wondered what could have been so important to be discussed that couldn't have waited until morning.

" _Sherbet Lemon_." She recited the password to the gargoyle, opening up a passage to the Headmaster's study. She strode in the office, her eyes immediately darting towards the fireplace.

"What is it, Albus?"

Dumbledore, sat on his armchair, staring at the bright logs in the blazing hearth. "Harry has gone missing, Minerva."

"What?!" She had feared this. "Albus, I had asked you not to send Hagrid for Harry's trip to the alley. His heart is at the right place, but Hagrid is not the most responsible of people..."

"Hagrid had nothing to do with Harry's disappearance, Minerva, it was Harry's own choice."

"He's just a child, Albus!" McGonagall all but shouted. "What choices could you possibly be talking about? Do you have any idea of his current whereabouts?"

"No, Minerva. I've done everything I could, for the better part of an hour. Harry hasn't returned to his relative's house. Nor has he contacted anyone we know. Owls are unable to find him. Bertha Williams, from the Improper Use of Magic department, will notify us if Harry uses his wand."

"Can we do nothing more, Albus?"

Dumbledore shook his head gravely.

"Another thing, Minerva", Dumbledore continued, his eyes still fixed on the dancing flames. "I need you to write to Muric, we need him back in Britain sooner than I imagined."

Minerva sighed, "Are you sure, Albus? We don't need to open old wounds. After all, the Malfoy scion is starting school this year."

"I'm sure of it, there is no place I would want Muric to be other than Hogwarts," Dumbledore said with a lucid tone, making it clear that his decision was final.

Minerva sighed again, making her displeasure known, "Very well."

She turned back and walked out of the office. The most difficult part of her work was to do tasks that she was reluctant to do. Writing to Muric Alpharde was one of them.

* * *

Greengrass Manor was located in the heart of the beautiful English city, Canterbury. The Greengrass' had lived in there for as long as anyone could remember. As of now, Lord Cyrus Greengrass resided at the Manor, with his wife and two daughters. Lord Greengrass was well respected in social circles and a famous name in the city.

Behind the arched doorways, and under the library ceiling, stood Daphne, glancing through the WOMBATS guidebook one final time. Her sister sat across her, resting her head on the mahogany table, waiting for the nightmare to be over.

"Alright Tori," Astoria flinched at the sudden exclamation, "You're all set."

Grinning from ear to ear, Astoria got up hastily and rushed out of the library. Halfway across the room, she changed her mind, and ran back towards Daphne, giving her a hug. She then skipped out of the room, humming a tune. Daphne smiled softly at her sister's antics, as she navigated through the shelves, and placed the book at it's rack. She walked across the aisles slowly, cherishing the times she had spent in that very room when she was younger.

A month left, and she would be gone; gone for the better part of a year, for seven years. It was a transition in her life, a new beginning and the end of an old chapter. Taking in the essence of the room in one deep breath, Daphne doused the lamps and exited.

* * *

The month of August passed grudgingly. Harry found himself completely at ease at the Fawley residence, finding the living conditions on the other end of the spectrum when compared to living with the Dursley's. Encouraged by his host, he had made several successful trips to a muggle clothing store, now owning a decent wardrobe of proper clothes. He maintained his habit of using time productively and spent a lot of it picking Lord Fawley's brains with extracts from Gringott's book.

Astoria cleared her WOMBATS, scoring not as high as she hoped (Outstanding), and not as low as Daphne feared (Poor). She managed an Acceptable, much to her family's amusement.

All attempts to locate the young Mr Potter were futile. Dumbledore had resorted to patients, and was constantly in hope for any positive news, about Harry, or about Muric (who had never replied back).

It soon was the thirty-first of the month. The Hogwarts Express would depart the next day sharp at eleven, from King's Cross. Trunks were packed, travel arrangements were made, and a memorable journey was at the threshold of beginning..

* * *

 **That's it. This chapter was borderline filler, and I'm happy that it's done with. Nonetheless, it was an important one, and now, I can finally say that the next chapter will feature the train journey! I would love to hear your reviews, opinions and thoughts. Moreover, I've decided to address only the reviews related to facts of the story in my chapters. I really do appreciate the words of encouragement, and I will try to reach my reviewers by PM, if time permits. Cheerio, and have a great day (or night, whatever).**

 **Fic Recommendation-** I fumbled across this story by mere chance, and I loved every page of it. 'Harry Potter and the Unexpected Friend', by CaskettFan5, is brilliantly written and gripping. The peak point of it is the character relations between Harry-Daphne, Harry-Hermione, Ron-Hermione, etc. they are masterfully done. Kudos to the author, and keep it up. Moreover, the fic is a work in progress and the author updates far more than I do. Do check it out.


	6. Vying for Hufflepuff?

**Disclaimer-** The Wizarding World and all in it belongs to JKR, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros, etc.

 **Author's Note-** Sorry for the long wait, but stuff came up. I'm happy to present this chapter, and things are moving on well. Thanks as always to my beta- TideTurner27, who always takes out time from his beauty sleep to help me out. Warm thanks to TremendouslySassy for the brilliant cover pic. I love it!

 **Beta's Note-** It's been a while, but this chapter is worth it.

P.S- A Blank Canvas will be updated within a couple of weeks.

* * *

 _I woke up disoriented, with my head pounding like a bludger hit it. Covering my eyes, I pushed aside the blankets and got off the couch. I tried to stand and managed fine for a second before crashing back, exhausted._

 _"Don't push yourself, Harry!" She admonished, carrying a tray with a steaming cup. "You need to rest."_

 _"I learned about this muggle beverage ages ago, and since then, I always wanted to try serving it. It's queer how_ less _opportunities I get to play hostess. Here you go, child." She helped me sit and handed me the cup. I took a tentative sip. It really was delicious._

 _Smiling pleasantly, she continued, "You are emotionally and physically exhausted. Your magic flared as a defense mechanism, doing quick work of the living room, but don't worry about it, I had wanted to refurbish it for quite some time."_

 _"How long... was I out for?" I asked after a while._

 _"An hour." She replied from somewhere behind me. The lights around me dimmed significantly, making it easier to see. She walked back gracefully, seating herself on the chair facing me. "We can wait, Harry, till it becomes easier for you to talk about the incident." She began fidgeting with the end of her shawl, "But in my experience, waiting seldom helps." She finished hesitantly. "The raw magic which burst out, I've never seen anything like that before. It's not safe for you to be in general company, Harry... Not safe for others."_

 _"It wasn't like this... before, you know, it started a few months after Ripper disappeared. It... He... When - he showed up..."_

 _I sighed and took another sip of the sweet beverage._

 _"I might not be able... to talk. I had buried these memories, deep inside... Pretending that they didn't exist. They terrify me."_

 _She nodded sadly._

 _"But I can show you, if that's alright."_

* * *

 **Vying for Hufflepuff?**

Headmaster Dumbledore had stayed up longer than usual that night. The school year would start the next day, and every bit was in place. He concluded the letter on his desk by signing his name in big, swirly letters, although his mind was not in his work.

Harry Potter would be coming to Hogwarts tomorrow. He honestly didn't know what to expect. Taking off his half-moon spectacles, he rubbed his eyes, contemplating on his plans for the coming year. A risky plan, with more areas of error than he would like, but then again it was necessary.

A familiar wave of sensations washed over his fingers. The wards were alerting him of an unauthorized entry into the grounds. The headmaster was up in an instant. He flicked his wand, and the office began to arrange itself, the pensive trudged back to its place, the envelopes on his desk stacked neatly into a drawer. The breach was from the lake, and the person was traveling at a high speed... heading straight to the headmaster's tower?! The wards surged again, and this time Dumbledore felt the intensity of magic the perpetrator brought. With a grim smile, Dumbledore motioned at the curtain and opened the balcony door. Standing there, holding a broom in his hand, was a friend. With a tall stature, trimmed grey beard, combat robes, and white hair tied in a ponytail.

"Albus," he spoke in a foreign accent, a mingling of many.

"Muric," Dumbledore got up to greet him, "how are you, old friend?"

Muric Alpharde strode in the office, shutting the door behind him. His right leg fell heavier than his left, giving his footsteps a characteristic note. It had always been like that.

"I am good, Albus. I have been busy."

"Your book is doing really well, I've read it myself, and I must say..."

"Why am I here Albus?" Muric interjected. He was in no mood for word games.

Dumbledore sighed and fiddled with a lemon drop. "It's time."

Muric sat down, looking straight at him, "And if I refuse?"

"I will not stop you, Muric, and Hogwarts will always have its doors open for you."

"Then we are done here." The visitor got up to leave. He barely had turned around that Dumbledore spoke,

"Harry Potter is arriving tomorrow."

Muric stopped in his tracks. Turning around slowly, he whispered, "What are you playing at, Dumbledore?"

"This is where you belong, Muric, you've evaded it for the last ten years, but this place is your home."

"I have another home now," Muric replied with a glint of anger in his voice.

"Where were you all this while?" Dumbledore was curious about it.

"You know I cannot tell you that, Albus."

"I know, but all this secrecy Muric, this cloak and dagger business isn't necessary amongst us, least of all we are allies."

Muric sighed heavily and brought up a round disk, slightly larger than a knut. It was a dull red colour, fading at the edges with three interlocking circled embroidered in gold. Dumbledore's face went through a variety of expressions.

"It exists?!"

"Don't ask me more."

"Who..."

"Enough Albus, enough. What do you want from me?"

Albus leaned back and looked at him critically. "Stay with us for a while, teach here. These kids could use a mentor like you."

"You expect me to teach them. What exactly? About kelpies, grindylows? This is a waste of time..."

"Duelling," Dumbledore replied simply, "teach them duelling. Stay for a term, and then you're free from us, forever. You go ahead, and I will never contact you."

Muric stared back with an unreadable expression. "You know professor, I will never understand your games."

There was a long silence that followed the conversation. Albus sat patiently, waiting for a response from his old student. Muric was a Hogwarts alumni, one of his earlier students, and one of the very best.

"The terms starts tomorrow, I suppose?" Muric smiled warily.

"As always. See you at the welcome feast. Minerva will organise your lodgings." Dumbledore offered his hand to Muric, who respectfully shook it.

"Alright Albus- Headmaster", he corrected.

"Muric, the name, if you will. Please. I am curious, more than you can imagine."

Muric smiled softly.

"Imperial," he said in a low voice.

"Imperial Arts."

* * *

A thin ray of sunlight peeked through the curtain, spreading a golden glow in the empty Canterbury halls. Upstairs, Daphne closed her trunk soundly, blowing off a stray strand of hair off her face. She hurried around the room opening and shutting drawers, cabinets, in near paranoia of forgetting something. Astoria looked on interestingly, as she watched her sister hobble around. These were rare moments that she lost her composure.

"Books, Robes, Wand... Wand, Tori where's my wand?" Daphne turned to her sister, who was staring at her with big blue eyes.

"I don't know", Astoria said innocently.

Walking over to the bed suspiciously, Daphne tossed the pillows off and saw the tip of her wand poking out from behind the mattress. She stowed her wand in her purse, brushing her fingers off the white streak lovingly.

"Now you be good Tori, and write to me, every week."

"Wait, am I not coming to the station?" Astoria asked.

"No," Daphne responded. "An owl arrived earlier today. Lady Macvity wants to talk. Mum will be going with you." A small smirk hinted at Daphne's lips. "Come now, Tori, how bad could that be."

Astoria buried her face in her pillow.

It was halfway down the stairway that Daphne noticed Tipsy levitating her trunk near the door. The house felt a little empty to her, and unnaturally quiet. A faint gloom lingered in the halls. It was then Daphne realised, all too suddenly, that she would actually be leaving in a while. Going away for months. Steadying herself, she walked across to the library, as her sanctuary always cheered her up. But every step she took, reminded her of the fun times she had at the manor. Tears slowly welled up in her eyes, confusing her more than ever. Abandoning all etiquettes, she ran to find her mother.

Isabella Greengrass was working quietly in the kitchen when Daphne entered. Sensing her daughter approaching, she turned around, wiping her hands with her apron. "Ready, Daphne?"

Daphne nodded.

Isabella smiled at her daughter, tucking her hair behind her ear, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Daphne mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"Homesick already?"

Daphne mock-scowled at her mother. She always saw right through her and Astoria. Isabella pulled Daphne into a hug, "Hogwarts is a wonderful place. You'll make friends, learn all sorts of magic, you're ready for it Daphne."

"Mum," Daphne said, with a croaky voice, "what if I am not?"

"Well, with Tracey present, I doubt there will ever be a quiet moment, and you know..." Isabella's face grew sombre for a moment, after which her smile returned, "Listen now, this is a secret. Don't tell father, and heavens help me if your sister hears it. Personally, I was never a big fan of rules. And I've lost count of the amount of detentions I had served for breaking curfew. So, have fun, okay Daphne, I'll understand."

Daphne giggled, and pulled back, her eyes shining with anticipation.

"I'll miss you, Mum."

"I'll miss you too, sweetie. You'll write to me regularly, won't you?"

Daphne nodded.

"Father is in his study. Look at the time dear, it's nearly nine. Go on now."

* * *

King's Cross Station was a busy place. Filled with busy muggles and magical folk, with the former oblivious of the latter's existence, and the latter trying (and failing) to merge with the surroundings inconspicuously. Evidently so, as a large part of the magical populace present at the station consisted of students, ready to board the Hogwarts Express for another year of learning at their dear school.

Daphne pushed her trolley through the dispersing crowds, skipping a little, partly due to excitement and largely due to the fact that she was cutting it close. Her father had a protective arm around her shoulder, surprising her by being all too quiet.

It wasn't long that Daphne exclaimed out. "Alright, this is getting ridiculous. What's all the secrecy about! It's just a train platform, father."

"Yes, Daphne. And here we are... Platform nine to your left, ten to your right."

Daphne looked at her father critically.

"Father, are you suggesting..."

"Technically, you should have expected that. The ticket clearly mentions Platform nine and three-fourths."

"I'm not running into a brick wall," Daphne responded, narrowing her eyes.

Cyrus Greengrass was enjoying himself. His daughter had taken to the Wizarding customs, like a gnome to a plum. And very rarely did she act like a child, her behaviour was far too mature. He sometimes missed his adventurous, playing-in-the-mud princess, that phase had passed too fast. But in the current volatility of the Wizengamot, it probably was for the best.

"Father, its fifteen minutes to eleven. If I miss the train, so help me God, I'll... I'll tell mother all about the Christmas cake," she finished with a sadistic smile.

Cyrus coughed loudly to hide a welp of surprise. "No one is mentioning that night, and how do you even know about it. More importantly, does your sister know?"

"She could."

"Merlin, look at the time, hurry up Daphne."

Daphne looked pointedly at the brick column.

"It's the only way!" Cyrus said with a hint of desperation in his voice. "Want me to go through it with you?"

"No..." Daphne said, her eyes shining with determination.

Her legs quivered, and her heart raced. She began walking towards the barrier, her steps quickened, the trolley gained momentum, and suddenly she wasn't in control. She was almost running towards the dull red column, which was upon her in an instant. She closed her eyes, in sheer panic, anticipating a crash... that never came. Her trolley slowed down, and she finally dared to open her eyes. Greeting her was the majestic scarlet engine, with gold engravings that read 'Hogwarts Express'.

The platform was a frenzy of activity, with students of all years moving around, saying goodbyes and greeting friends. She walked towards the great clock, dazzled by the ruckus around her. And it was between all this ruckus that she saw her father, standing beside a newspaper stand, grinning at her. The sweet smile that Daphne adorned was a testament that Cyrus Greengrass was in a load of trouble.

"Daphneeee! Daph!"

Daphne turned back to find Tracey waving at her from one of the coaches. She jumped onto the platform, bustling through the crowds and gave Daphne a hug.

"Where were you? Been waiting an hour. Good day, Mr. Greengrass."

"Hello Tracey. Why don't you and Daphne find a compartment. Is your father here?"

"I saw him chatting with Lord Smith a while back," Tracey replied.

Cyrus nodded. Public meetings always turned political. But that could wait. He turned to his daughter who was now listening to Tracey describe something animatedly. Tracey's mother, Helen was a muggleborn, and thus, Daphne always had a progressive upbringing when it related to anything muggle. Cyrus was glad that happened. Daphne never bumbled around in Muggle London, which was a characteristic trait of half the people he knew. He felt proud of Daphne on that account.

The train bellowed out a gush of steam signalling departure. Cyrus knelt down to face his daughter.

"This is your opportunity, Daphne. Make the most out of it. And if you need anything, write to me at once. Any trouble, about any issue, don't hesitate."

Daphne nodded and embraced her father. Her eyes stung as tears threatened to fall, but Daphne was stronger now. And she had a lot to look forward to.

"Go on now."

Daphne pulled her levitating trunk out of the trolley and disappeared inside one of the carriages. Tracey collected the rest of Daphne's belongings and went up to Cyrus.

"Don't worry, Mr. Greengrass," she said. "I'll take care of Daphne."

Cyrus smiled at her, as she bowed to him briefly and disappeared into the crowd. He stood rooted to the spot for quite some time. All it took were a few words of an eleven-year-old, to calm the worries of a father's heart. He chuckled at himself, Tracey never failed to surprise him.

The train started to move slowly, and a loud horn resonated across the platform. It was time that he got down to business. With an entirely different flair, Cyrus Greengrass, leader of the Grey faction of Wizengamot, turned around and walked away.

* * *

The train was far more crowded than Daphne had expected. It was hard enough to maneuver herself along the passage, let alone drag a 4 feet trunk through the ruckus. Slightly miffed, she looked around for her best friend, who conveniently went missing whenever required.

The cabin to her right lurched open suddenly, as the train started to move. She peeked inside to find a boy staring right back at her. He had a sickle balanced on his forefinger and thumb, midway of what looked like a coin toss. His expressions rivalled those of Astoria when she was caught doing something silly.

"Anyone here?" She asked after a hesitant silence.

"No one," he answered, stowing the coin in his pocket. He helped her fix her trunk under one of the seats and shut the cabin door softly. Time for introductions, she imagined.

Now, basic introductions would usually comprise of them telling their names, and shaking hands. But orthodox Pureblood customs (ones which the Greengrass family followed) had a few more formalities. She had the designation of an heiress of a Nobel house. Customs dictate that she should mention her title before her name, and emphasize the stature of her house. Handshakes had a different meaning too. It signified that both parties consider the other to be socially equal, whether it be wealth or influence.

In the pecking order, the Greengrass family had arguably six equals, Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, Bones, Longbottom, and Smith. She even wasn't permitted (by her customs) to shake hands with Tracey, which was absurd, and kind of a non-issue (Tracey always hugged), but following all of these traditions was tedious. The question still hung. What should she do?

"You alright?" He asked. "Seems like you sort of drifted away for a second."

Daphne nodded. She was well known in Pureblood circles and had attended nearly all formal events organised by the Nobel families. She was certain that this boy had not received Pureblood education, and would obviously not follow their customs. Judging by his dress, he was almost undoubtedly a muggleborn. So, when in Rome, Daphne decided, she would do as the Romans did.

She stood up and held out her hand, "Hi, I'm Daphne Greengrass. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

The boy's eyes lit up, as he shook her hand, "Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you too."

Of all different outcomes, Daphne had never expected this. She held her breath, for once completely baffled. Her eyes slowly shifted to his forehead, but her heart gave in before she could see the dreaded scar. She looked away hurriedly, wondering if he had noticed her strange behaviour.

Harry Potter's story was celebrated by the entire Wizarding community. But not by her. She always choked up when she imagined growing up without her parents or sister, and Harry Potter had lost his parents the night he got the scar. Everyone knew that.

Daphne shyly looked at him, half with pity, and half fascinated. If anything, he looked confused. Well, that was expected. She quietly drew her hand back, and took her seat by the window, with her heart hammering inside her chest. Merlin, where was Tracey when she needed her!

Daphne steadied her emotions, berating herself mentally. She was the daughter of a Nobel house, for Merlin's sake, and she expected a degree of sophistication from herself. Once her nerves had calmed down, she turned to face him.

For a fairytale hero, he was rather scrawny. His hair was a mess, and his glasses drooped down every time he turned his head. He was... normal, like someone you might meet at a park, or at a broomstick store. Did she expect something more? She didn't know, but it sure as hell didn't feel like she was sitting with the most famous person in magical Britain.

"Daphne? Are you alright? You got lost again it seems." He brought her out of her thoughts. Before Daphne could answer, the door lurched open once again and a young redheaded boy came in.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at a vacant spot opposite her. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. The train had left the dense part of the city, and other than an occasional barn, there was nothing but crops and fields to see. Daphne had never felt a silence get as uncomfortable as it was getting right now.

"I'm Ron, Ron Weasley", the redheaded boy spoke up suddenly.

"Daphne Greengrass." she responded, offering her hand shakily. Did Weasleys follow Pureblood customs?

Ron shook her hand twice and moved slightly away from her. He turned towards Harry and spotted the scar before Harry introduced himself.

"You're Harry Potter!" He exclaimed happily.

"Yep, that's me," Harry answered, his voice rather cheerful.

Ron sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window.

Daphne was not going to endure another round of awkward silence. There was a reason she put up with Tracey, mainly because situations like these never arose with her around.

Houses seemed a safe topic, she thought. "So, which houses would you both want to be in?" she asked slowly.

"Gryffindor," Ron answered, his eyes quite distant. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"What about Slytherin?" Daphne asked narrowing her eyes.

"Nothing," he replied hastily, "I probably won't fit in there. Besides, it's You-Know-Who's old house." He turned to face Harry nervously, who was looking quite interested.

"So.." Daphne countered primly, "Doesn't make everyone there evil."

At this point, both Daphne and Ron turned to Harry, as if expecting him to break the tie. Obliging, he replied, "Either one... either one. Hold on, which is the fourth house again?"

"Hufflepuff," Ron answered with a snort. "It's basically for dummies."

Daphne didn't correct him but was liking his prejudice far less every second.

Harry looked out of the window, deep in thought, as silence descended again.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

Oh, Merlin! Daphne started to panic. Of all topics to choose, they would talk about Quidditch. She had no love for the sport, and to sit there, and listen to them go over plays, formations, highlights... It was too much to handle. It would be best if she slipped out for a stroll.

"Er - I don't know any," Harry confessed.

Wait, what? That's a first. Daphne didn't know a single person oblivious to Quidditch and its teams. It was such a big part of the Wizarding culture, that it was impossible to not know it. You might hate it (like herself) or love it to death (like Tracey), but you have to know about it, right?

The compartment door slid open, and Daphne's childhood friend stepped in.

"Tracey!" Daphne cried out in joy.

"Wow, what did you guys do to her?" Tracey giggled. "I like her more already."

"Hi, Harry! And hi, umm..."

"Ron Weasley."

"I'm Tracey Davis, best friend, and confidant of Daphne, the sour-faced lady in whose company you found yourselves in, and Ron, you have dirt on your nose," Tracey remarked, seating herself next to Daphne, who indeed had a sour expression now.

Ron pulled out a dull handkerchief and rubbed his nose.

"So, what's up?" Tracey asked cheerily.

"Harry here," Ron began, "doesn't know anything about Quidditch."

"Have you been living under a rock all this while?" Tracey asked. "So, I have to teach you to fly, as well as explain Quidditch to you. Save up mister, it's gonna cost."

"Hey," Harry protested, "it never came up."

"Oh you wait - Quidditch is the best game in the world -" Ron grinned.

And they were off, explaining Harry about the four balls, seven players, and their individual roles.

"Joy." Daphne murmured.

Daphne spent the next few minutes gazing at the trees whipping by.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a tinkling bell sound that brought her out of her thoughts. The Quidditch trio were now discussing the finer points of the game, ranging from famous plays of even more famous teams. There was a soft knock, and the door slid open.

A smiling, dimply woman looked at them kindly, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Daphne smiled back, she really wanted one of those notorious ice mice.

* * *

The mood in the compartment had now lightened sufficiently. Daphne had accepted a chocolate frog from Harry, who had insisted on treating everyone. She was a lot happier since then as she got a rare card, Vindictus Viridian. Weasley kept staring at it longingly, but as a collector worth her galleon she would never succumb to pity. Amidst all his hubbub, there was another entry in the compartment.

This time, it was a fully robed, brown bushy haired girl, and Neville Longbottom. She knew him well enough, as Pureblood circles are small.

"Harry!" She brightened up, as she came in the cabin. Ron looked at her with a puzzled expression, and shifted towards the door, making way for her to sit beside Harry. On their inclusion, the cabin was as full as it could get. The girl introduced herself as Hermione Granger, a muggleborn, and within a minute, started emanating what Tracey called Ravenclaw vibes. Quite the chatterbox, she talked (mostly to Harry), about various aspects of Hogwarts, and what they could expect from the renowned institution. Daphne could give credit when earned, and it had to be admitted, that Hermione Granger had done her research well.

Apparently, Neville had lost his toad. It was a characteristic trait of the boy, for as long as Daphne had known Neville. She looked on sadly, and consoled him, "It'll turn up soon."

And it went on like this. The whole lot of them chatting, leaving Daphne to her thoughts. Daphne deemed herself a great judge of character, and she would play around with the idea of sorting people.

Now, Weasley would be a Gryffindor, they all were.

Hermione, probably in Ravenclaw.

She and Tracey would undoubtedly be in Slytherin.

Neville, hmm... Neville would be a Hufflepuff.

And now came the challenging bit. Harry Potter. Honestly, she couldn't read him. There was something off about him, some sort of facade. Daphne knew it all too well, as she was adept at ignoring people and situations. But then, where would he go? Harry caught her eye, as she was staring at him lost in thought. He smirked slightly, and looked away, back at Hermione. Daphne scrunched her nose... probably Gryffindor.

It was getting darker now, and Daphne thought it would be best to get changed. She excused herself and dragged Tracey to the back of the carriage with her. A short while later, they had changed, looked presentable and were contemplating whether to finally go and find the old crowd.

Pansy bored them, and Tracey was having too much fun.

After a quick, silent conversation, they made their way back to the cabin, only to find Harry and Weasley, fully robed, plucking out chocolate wrappings and dusting them under the seats. Tracey jumped for the window seat, and Daphne sat beside her, patting her robes down.

The compartment door slid once again, and it wasn't Hermione who entered. It was a pale boy, with his sleek blonde hair combed back. He was sporting a smug expression that Daphne knew all too well.

"It is true then, what people are saying... Harry Potter is joining Hogwarts." He walked in with his usual entourage, Crabbe and Goyle, all of them focused on Harry.

"My name," he said with a smirk, "is Draco Malfoy. You'll soon find out some Wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's.

That's when Daphne thought she should interject. After all, no one deserved to suffer Draco's company for longer than absolutely required, let alone get impressed by him.

"My, jumping straight into friendship, how very considerate of you, Draco. Vying for Hufflepuff?" Daphne asked innocently, examining her nails.

"Daphne?!" Draco spluttered, "Why are you here?"

Daphne looked up at him, with a smile hinting on her lips. "Socializing," she answered, as Tracey sniggered. Harry gave a sideward glance to where Daphne was sitting, and spoke in a cheerful manner, "I can figure out the right sort by myself, thanks."

Draco turned slightly pink. He looked around condescendingly, "Mind you, Potter, one would have thought you had some right thoughts about your company. But it seems I've been mistaken. Hanging around with Weasleys and half-bl..."

"Heir Malfoy," Harry spoke loudly, the mirth vanishing from his face, "I'll be fine without your help."

Malfoy's face remained expressionless. Realizing that he was getting nowhere, he signalled the boys behind him and stormed out of the compartment.

Quite happy with himself, Harry leaned back listening to Weasley harp about how dark the Malfoys were. What intrigued Daphne, was the calmness by which he had diffused the situation. Judging how the conversation ended, Daphne realised that Harry Potter could very well find himself in Slytherin, and she admitted to herself, that he could do wonders there if he played his cards right.

* * *

It had become dark now, and Daphne could see lights twinkling at a distance. A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

The train began to slow down. The corridors got a lot more crowded and noisy, with students of all years talking, laughing, and catching up. Daphne felt her stomach lurch at the thought of the upcoming year. She would learn magic. Magic! All the theory she had to memorize for the last few years, hearing tales about the great deeds achieved by famous wizards, and how well they used to wield magic. It was finally hers to learn.

They trudged along the crowd and jumped off the train. Daphne had left all her belongings back in the cabin, save her wand, and her treasured chocolate frog card. Headmasters prior to Dippet were so hard to find.

"Alrigh' now, follow me, firs' years," boomed a loud voice. Daphne and Tracey followed the crowd away from the carriages, and towards the pier. Docked there, were small boats all lit by dim lampshades. They got in them, forming groups of fours, accompanied by Harry and Ron Weasley. Both of them were quiet as well, in anticipation of the sorting, she supposed.

"Every'ne in, we're off." The giant man thumped the boat he was seated on, and all of them started to drift slowly. They passed a couple of arches, looking around whispering amongst themselves. Finally, the boats turned towards the old castle - "Ooooh," went the crowd.

"Heads down!" he yelled as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. Passing the ivy, the boats reached a boathouse, and the student clambered out of them, dusting themselves, looking around interestingly.

"Whose los' their toad?" asked their guide, as he checked the boats. "Trevor," Neville cried out in joy, running up to him, and holding out his hand. They all then trekked up a stairway facing the cliffs, to the side of the castle's main entrance.

"Everyone 'ere?"

The giant man knocked the door three times.

* * *

 **I really hope that I can continue writing with the same motivation when I started. Will get back with the next update soon. Cheers!**

 **Fic recommendation-** This might get me a lot of hate, but please, go and read 'Behind Blue Eyes', by Paffy, if you haven't done that yet. It's a beautiful story, and has a great Harry/OC characterization. One of my absolute favorites.


	7. Knowledge is might

**Disclaimer-** The Wizarding World and all in it belongs to JKR, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros, etc.

 **Author's note-** Apart from my abysmal update schedule, I must say I'm content by how this story is turning out. Again, thanks for all the reviews, those really make my day. Some of them were pretty flamey too, but I don't really mind. Anyways, welcome the newest team member, Tremendously Sassy, who will be working on the chapter too, giving her valuable input. Many thanks to Tideturner27 for beta-ing this chappie.

 **Tide's note-** I personally enjoyed this chapter as Tracey is rapidly becoming my favourite character

 **Sassy's note-** Hello wizards, witches and your angsty first years. I would like to introduce myself as Lady Dominique, the author of 'Wands and Fireguns'. I've been reading Abe's work since the very beginning, thus being a beta for him really is something I wouldn't have thought to ever agree onto. However, here I am. This team needed some feminine influence to complete the triangle- right Ladies?

Thus, you can follow me onto my account, Tremendously Sassy, if you happened to be interested in who I am. I write on three platforms- Wattpad, and Movellas. (I promise this is not a promotion.) So yeah, you're welcome that I joined.

* * *

 _I wasn't even surprised when I learned she owned a pensieve. It was beautiful, with the runes etched instead of drawn, all in a calligraphic lore. Standing over it, I felt a final pull of hesitance._

 _She stood respectably away, watching me._

 _Watching with those caring eyes. Why did she even care so much?_

 _I sighed and brought my wand to my temple. I focused on every memory I had of that ghastly phase, on every small detail, every sensation. Slowly, I pulled the misty thread of memories, gasping in surprise at the sheer drain I felt._

 _Letting it rest in the pensieve, I gave myself a moment to ready myself._

 _Time to face the past._

 _It scared me how vulnerable I felt._

* * *

 **Knowledge is might**

The mammoth door swung open instantly. Standing there, facing the new students was a tall witch, wearing a traditional witch's hat, donning a long feather. She looked strict, reminding Harry of his third-grade teacher, and from experience, he wouldn't want to get on her bad side.

The first years made their way inside the entrance hall, and a general 'Oooh' rang out once more.

Harry couldn't help but admire the architecture of the castle. The corridor was humongous - with huge archways, armored statues, and paintings. The people in the paintings moved - something that Harry felt quite accustomed to given the time he spent at the Fawley residence and waved at the new arrivals. Hagrid took his leave after leaving them in the professor's care.

Harry could hear a faint sound coming from behind a huge door to their right, and imagined that the rest of the school must already be there. The first years, however, were ushered to an empty corridor beside the hall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." The lady addressed them. "I am Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts. The start of term feast will begin shortly, and here, all of you will be sorted into your houses. Your house will be like your family here. Every house has its noble history, and each one has produced witches and wizards of outstanding talent."

Harry was hanging onto every word she was saying. The importance that Professor McGonagall emphasized heritage, was something that he knew he would cherish. His time at the Dursleys was hardly anything worth remembering.

"The professors will reward points for your triumphs in classes and co-curricular activities, and similarly will deduct points for rule-breaking. The house cup will be awarded to the house with the most points at the end of the year. Winning it is a great honour."

Finishing her introductory speech, Professor McGonagall told them to stay put for a short while and left. Daphne had been standing beside Harry all this while, looking quite at ease.

"Daphne, what is this Sorting Ceremony," Harry asked, quite curious about the traditions.

Daphne turned to him quizzically. "This is how we will be sorted into houses," she answered. "We have to -".  
" - fight a troll," Tracey interjected, nodding sagely.

Daphne exchanged a curious look with Tracey before turning back to him. "Right."

Beside Harry, a bunch of muggleborns whispered nervously amongst themselves. Harry rolled his eyes.  
The slight buzz of whispering died down as Professor McGonagall returned.  
"Follow me now, please. The rest of the school is waiting for you."

* * *

The Great Hall was the first architectural building to be finished when Hogwarts was being built. The stone and mortar part didn't take long, obviously, as the founders were talented individuals who could and did erect monuments by casual waves of their wands. The time taking part here, was to power the inherent magic these walls possessed. The Hogwarts wards were the said source, and they had to be put down carefully, lest a city sized crater would exist where a prestigious school does now. This feat was achieved by none other than Helga Hufflepuff, who was unmatched in her warding expertise.

It was rumoured that the Great Hall was the heart of the hallowed institution, and everything else just kind of settled around it. Well, it's all speculation. For now, the hall housed a few hundred students, qualified by the inherent magic of the castle who possessed enough magical prowess to study here.

Albus Dumbledore, sat at the centre of the head table, making polite conversation with the other teachers. He glanced at the opening door, and watched with slight anticipation as Minerva marched in with the first years in tow. And then, finally, he saw Harry Potter. The boy seemed to be pretty normal. Like the rest of his yearmates, he looked appropriately dazzled by the ceiling, and candles. He chatted with the Greengrass heiress, which was something of slight concern. All that was political, of course.

Minerva brought the sorting hat with her, and placed it at the stool. Albus's eyes met with Harry's for a second. At that moment, the Sorting Hat began it's song.

* * *

"Now, as soon as I will call out your name, you will come up, and the sorting hat will be placed on your head. Abbott, Hannah."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Bones, Susan."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

There was another wizard, at the head table, quite interested in Harry Potter. Muric Alpharde, Hogwarts newest Duelling master. The sorting brought back memories, with none other than Professor Dumbledore calling out names, and getting the first years sorted.

"Brown, Lavender."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Ah, his old house. He clapped amicably for each student, trying to place names with faces. As a teacher, he should remember all his students.

* * *

"Davis, Tracey."

Tracey was internally a mess. Slytherin would be a difficult house for her - her halfblood status assured that. But, cunning and ambition was in her blood… She walked to the stool, and sat down, facing the hall. The Sorting Hat was placed, and she immediate felt a mental presence in her head. Hours of occlumency training paying off.

"Don't be afraid of the world, child." The hat told her. She mentally nodded. The hat, apparently could understand her emotional state. "A sight for the goal, another at your enemies, rest assured, Slytherin will forge your path."

"SLYTHERIN!"

Tracey hopped off the stool, and paced towards her house tables.

* * *

"Granger, Hermione."

Hermione almost ran towards the stool, and let Professor McGonagall put the sorting hat on her head.

"With a mind like this, Ravenclaw seems the place for you." The hat hummed in her head. Hermione, however, had mixed emotions regarding the studious house.

"Do we get a say in it?" She thought.

"I merely guide the thoughts," replied the hat. "What do you want from a house, Miss Granger? Knowledge, excellence and skill. Ravenclaw will give you the right atmosphere to reach your true potential."

"No."

"You don't agree with me?" The hat asked.

Had it been a couple months earlier, Hermione would have agreed with the hat. But from the events that occured in Diagon Alley, her faith in the books she always cherished had significantly lessened.

"I don't know.." she faltered. Her eyes were downcast. The hall sat silently, gazing at the first, lengthier sorting.

"I know the right place for you," the hat said kindly.

"GRYFFINDOR".

The voice rang sharply in the hall.

* * *

"Greengrass, Daphne."

A hushed buzz broke out in the Slytherin table. Right, Daphne thought. Her father was an important person in upper societal circles, in his business, as well as in the Wizengamot.

No one could explain it better than her, that being a Pureblood heiress is hard. A formal event such as this - the Sorting - it required the perfect walk, the mask of nonchalance, and obviously, getting to be in the house of her choice.

Houses were just so important in Hogwarts, it wasn't even funny. You spend the most amount of time with your housemates, in your common rooms, getting exposed to completely different situations. She probably wouldn't recognize herself if she spent a year as a Gryffindor. Daphne shuddered at the thought.

"Greengrass, Daphne." Professor McGonagall repeated, bringing her out of her thoughts. Slightly pink, she walked to the stool, and sat down facing the hall. The professor placed the hat on her head, and she felt the cursory browsing of thought in her mind.

"Slytherin, please." She thought.

"Well, well, let's not be hasty." The hat said. "Why look at this-" The memory picked by the hat was a six-year old Daphne chasing a kneazle around her family manor, with a stick in her hand. Daphne smiled.

"Why, that's sort of courageous -".

"NO. No. Slytherin for me," Daphne pleaded. "Moreover, the cat tackled me pretty hard after that. I regret doing that."

"Rather, Hufflepuff might be a good -"

Daphne shook her head violently, alarmed at the downward spiral this sorting was turning out to be.

"Slytherin. Slytherin."

She could feel the amusement from the hat in her head.

"SLYTHERIN." The hat's voice boomed.

* * *

Muric found himself lost in his thoughts through most of the sorting. He had been out of Britain for quite some time, and frankly, a lot had changed. People were trusting each other far lesser. Even though the war had been long over, its effects persisted to this day.

He was brought out of his musings by Professor McGonagall as she shouted, "Longbottom, Neville".

Longbottom… that was a name he would never forget. Muric straightened himself looking at the Longbottom heir walk to the stool. He had known Frank Longbottom. Frank had never been a duellist, but he could handle himself well enough when required. What eventually happened to Longbottom and his wife, was unfortunate. The entire war was unfortunate.

This sorting took longer than any of the previous ones. As the seconds ticked by, the hall began to grow louder with hushed conversations. Soon enough, the hat cleared it's throat and shouted, "GRYFFINDOR".

Muric looked on interestingly as Longbottom made his way to the Gryffindor table.

* * *

"Malfoy, Draco."

What?! Muric turned towards Dumbledore. This right here, was the biggest reason why he had been reluctant to return to Hogwarts. The headmaster, in his infinite wisdom, would never, never lay down the cards on the table. Muric shook his head slightly, staring at his empty goblet. So, he would need to teach Lucius Malfoy's son dueling. That was something he had never imagined himself doing.

"SLYTHERIN." The hat shouted, mere moments after been placed on Malfoy.

Muric clapped dryly, watching the smug kid walk to his table as if he owned the past decade had indeed been fruitful for the Malfoys. And he knew first-hand, by what deviant subtlety Malfoy had made his empire.

Muric had spent the better part of the day familiarizing himself with the Wizengamot logbook. Now that he would be formally introduced after the sorting, the news of his arrival was bound to travel. He anticipated a barrage of owls soon, inviting him to dinners, meetings and drinks. All of which would push political propaganda. Thus, it was crucial for him to know the alignment of political factions, and assess his stance on all of it. Hefty work, yes - but who ever said politics was easy.

* * *

"Potter, Harry." The transfiguration professor announced.

Loud whispers broke out in the hall, once again. Students craned their necks to get a better look at Harry, who was now stepping towards the hat. Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head and stepped back. She waited. The students all stopped their conversations, staring intently at the sorting. Seconds turned into minutes, but the hat didn't speak. What changed were the expressions it wore, a frown expressed clearly by the folds on the canvas.

The sorting hat did sort Harry Potter. But it was among the hushed whispers in the hall, that the student populace witnessed something very unusual that night. Even the seventh years testified that they had never heard the sorting hat shout anything apart from a house, but that night it spoke not one, but two words-

"Fine - GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

Ron Weasley was one of the last students to be sorted. Much to Harry's amusement, the hat had humphed after being placed on Ron's head and sent him on his way to the Gryffindor table in haste. Ron had a blissful expression on his face as he sat beside Harry, getting patted and his hair ruffled by his elder brothers. Hermione sat across them, with a small smile.

Speaking of elder brothers, Ron had five. One of them Percy, who was a fifth-year prefect chatted with them, telling them the names and subjects of various teachers.

"Percy, who's that?" Harry asked, looking pointedly at the teacher with a white ponytail. Percy glanced at the teacher and frowned.

"Don't know, Harry, he's new for sure."

Harry looked at the head table one final time before glancing at his empty plate. He really was famished.

The last student to be sorted was Blaise Zabini, who went to Slytherin.

Daphne clapped stoically with the rest of her house, as the headmaster made his way to the podium. She was very glad to be in Slytherin. Now that the sorting was over, she looked around recognising people from her house- Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Tracey, Pansy, Bulstrode, the regular crowd. Well, she could handle all of them.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. It is indeed a privilege for me to announce the newest member of our faculty. Perhaps the most qualified instructor of today, I would like to introduce Professor Muric Alpharde, who will be teaching dueling to all students. Now as your curriculum didn't include dueling before -"

Daphne zoned out for a minute there, as she struggled to remember where she had heard that name. No, not heard. She had read it in her library, but couldn't remember what it was about."

"- here they are- Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" Saying so, the headmaster sat down.

"Pathetic." Marcus Flint growled from the end of the table. "What a joke..."

"Zip it, Flint." Some senior student commented. Flint sneered back and began to pile food on his plate. Daphne shared a brief look with Tracey, and began to do the same.

* * *

The Slytherin common room was in the dungeons. Once the macabre feeling had passed, Daphne seemed quite content with the facilities it offered. True enough, she might not have a great view from her window, but the common room offered her a cosy dormitory, a potion's lab, a common fireplace, a library of sorts and even a dueling pit. The newcomers followed Elisabeth Dormiens, a sixth-year prefect to the centre of the common room. A few senior students hung around, having conversations in low tones waiting for the orientation to begin. Daphne looked around, absorbing her surroundings. The room was torch-lit, with green and silver silk curtains. Adorned on every pillar was the Slytherin crest, featuring a silver snake. Even the borders of every painting had some semblance to the hide of the reptile.

"Welcome to Slytherin house, first years." The prefect began. "For better or for worse, you have been given the opportunity to learn a lot from this snake pit. Your life here will be tougher, more disciplined, and we expect you to live up to our standards."

Daphne glanced around. She wasn't prepared for such an intense start to her school life.

"Better you hear it from me, that our house is not liked much. We face prejudice, mostly because we fail to see the need to let go of our traditions and values. So, we show a united front. Always. I see two Slytherins mouthing each other off, both of them will be scrubbing cauldrons for a month. Clear?"

Beside Daphne, a girl looked on the verge of tears. Daphne herself felt uneasy at the prospect of being hated for being in the wrong house. She looked over at Tracey, who looked eerily serious.

"Enough Lisa, they're frightened."

Daphne turned to see another prefect walk towards them. She had the authoritative poise Daphne longed for, and the looks that came with it. The room was painfully quiet now.

"I'm Grace, a seventh-year prefect, and the head girl. Remember firsties, knowledge is might. Seek it, but not like a Ravenclaw chasing after books. Learn it around yourselves. Find it in our old way of doing things. Your education is the biggest asset you'll have in life, and Hogwarts is the best place in Europe to give you a quality education. You've come here to learn - learn magic. By the time you've graduated, you should be proud of what you've learnt and what you can achieve. Stay away from mindless mischief, and house rivalries."

Daphne's eyes were shining as she listened to the head girl speak. Standing before her was someone who approached learning like she did, and it was the head girl no less. It left Daphne speechless.

Elisabeth cleared her throat, "I'm Elisabeth Dormiens, I'll be your go-to senior in case of any problems. We have been winning the best house cup for six years now, and I want that streak to last for another year." She was smiling a bit as she spoke, "Earn more points than you lose. That's the trick. Right- fifth-year prefects are in charge of the lab and library. Jeremy- the seventh year prefect, will be in charge of duelling. No first years to engage in a wizard's duel till Grace or Jeremy approves it. And me and my fellow prefect, Paul, will handle all disciplinary actions against or for you. Don't involve Professor Snape in any trivial problems without approaching us. Breakfast is at eight, but be ready half an hour earlier. Professor Snape will be addressing you. Any questions? None. Shoo."

The first years scurried to their respective dormitories, choosing beds, and unpacking their clothes from their trunks. It had been a long day, and they were all tired.

"What did you think of it Daph?" Tracey asked as they got ready for bed.

Fluffing her pillow, Daphne answered, "I want to be just like her, Tracey."

"Don't we all." Tracey chuckled.

* * *

Harry believed that he would get along with Ron famously. Ron was full of stories, about his family, his brothers, life at a magical home. Apart from Ron, there were three other boys in their year- Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan (who was Irish), and Neville. Incidentally, Neville mentioned that his father had been an acquaintance of Professor Alpharde. Before the First wizarding war, Muric Alpharde used to work in the auror academy. Training recruits and all.

"Grandmother reckoned he was dead, you know." Neville whispered. "He vanished sometime between the heat of the war, and was not seen again."

The discussion turned slightly lighter when Hermione began to talk to Percy about their curriculum. Harry found Ron's retelling of the Cannon's season performance far more interesting.

Once they had finished desserts, the headmaster stood to make a few announcements. Apparently, there was a list of banned items (which Harry planned to check out), and the third-floor corridor caused imminent death. They all then stood to sing the school song. Hermione did know it by heart but was terribly out of tune. Harry and Ron simply hummed.

Once again, Harry was amazed by the architecture of the school. It was needlessly unique, with the moving staircases, trick steps and moodily helpful (or unhelpful) paintings. It certainly made walking more interesting. Had it not been for Percy guiding them, Harry reckoned they would have lost their way by now. They finally reached the Gryffindor tower, and stood in front of a painting of a sixteenth century Opera singer.

"This is the fat lady, who will grant you entry in the tower if you give the right password. For this week it's - _caput draconis._ " Percy had barely finished speaking that the portrait swung open to show a narrow passageway that led to the common room.

They were then introduced to the five other prefects, and also the Quidditch captain, Oliver Wood.

"Wood is the best keeper at Hogwarts," Ron mentioned excitedly. "He's the captain in his fifth year, brilliant -that is."

Once dismissed, they made their way to the first year's dormitory. Harry was happy to find his trunk safely stowed under his bed. He unlocked it, quickly scanned through it, and shut it soundly. He was hardly sleepy. Harry's eyes fell on a wizard's chess set that Ron was unpacking, and inquired if Ron was any good. An hour later, Harry finally retired for the night, sufficiently humbled.

* * *

 **Before scolding me about my characters, please consider that they are eleven years of age. I would hate to them behave more matured they normally would be. So, consider that, and then give me your honest review. Thanks!**

 **Fic Recommendation-** Alright, Wu Gang's 'The Mind Arts'. The fic is beautiful. He has masterfully taken many cliches and worked around them- I really enjoyed reading it. Hope y'all do too.


	8. Let's Talk

**Disclaimer-** The Wizarding World and all in it belongs to JKR, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros, etc.

 **Author's note-** So, I'm midway into trying to fix my update schedule. And I find that I can churn out chapters at a respectable once every two weeks basis. This one is a week earlier, because I have exams next week, will be super busy, yada yada. Next chapter should be up in three weeks. Huge thanks to Tideturner27, and Tremendously Sassy for helping me in doubts, beta-ing, and just being awesome.

 **Tide's note-** It is always a pleasure to beta Rain's work. Every chapter is filled with content that makes you want more. It gives me immense pleasure to introduce the new chapter. I should have done this the last chapter but I would also like to officially welcome Tremendously Sassy to the team.

 **Sassy's note-** My awesomeness is vital to finish anything nowadays, obviously. I am very excited for the next chapters and am very proud of what has been written down so far. Muric is beginning to become my favourite character, mainly because his portrayal makes me want to write and direct an entire movie about him. Nevermind exaggerating, he truly is, awesome.

* * *

" _Where are we, Harry?"_

 _The swirling mess of shadows we found ourselves in hardly qualified as a memory._

" _This is all I remember," I answered. "A mangled memory, creation of my head in an attempt to shield me from what it contains."_

" _You see, when I first went to Hogwarts, I thought I was learning magic. Something incredible. But I realise now, after all this time - after everything- that it was not the first time I was being taught. I had known it all, the entire while."_

" _The secrets of which lie here, somewhere in these broken fragments of my conscience."_

 _She put a reassuring arm on my shoulder, pointing to a park._

" _Let's go there."_

* * *

 **Let's talk**

By the end of the first week of the term, Harry couldn't imagine he would belong in any place more than Hogwarts. For the first time ever, he had friends. Friends like Ron, who accompanied him everywhere, with whom he could talk about stuff. Friends like Hermione, who would drag him to the library every now and then. Like Neville, who usually would be a little uncomfortable with company, but could always indulge Harry in topics such as customs and culture.

Weekdays were pretty busy, because of classes. Also, magical lessons were so different than Harry was accustomed to. By the end of the week, Harry had formed a general opinion about all his classes, save dueling (which wasn't scheduled for another week).

Potions, for instance, was a disaster. By the time the first class had finished, Harry was certain the teacher had a personal vendetta against him. The cause of which was simply non-existent. Ron believed that Snape was prejudiced against all Gryffindors, and that it shouldn't bother Harry much. Harry hoped that was the case.

Professor McGonagall, on the other hand didn't favour Gryffindors, like Snape favoured his students. If anything, she was rather strict with them, and wouldn't hesitate to show her disappointment, on submissions of below par assignments. Transfiguration assignments were lengthy and tedious. Harry made it a point to get them done at the earliest - he didn't want to upset the head of his house.

Charms was fun. Professor Flitwick, taught them wandwork. The right movements, how to enunciate, and the repercussions of failing to comply. The excitement Harry felt for the class grew because it was here, that they could see practical magic. The other subjects were far too theoretical.

Herbology and Astronomy were an acquired taste. The teachers, Professor Sprout and Sinistra were lenient on grading, and Harry and Ron found their assignments easier to finish. Defense Against the Dark Arts, on the other hand, was abysmal. Harry was severely disappointed by the teacher Professor Quirrell, who seemed to be afraid of nearly every topic in the curriculum - be it dark creatures or dark spells.

History of Magic was taught by a ghost. And while Harry had initially been curious to know the insights of a deceased mind, the class turned out to be a droning bore.

But what Harry had been really keen on attending was flying. Flying sessions were supposed to be held a week after they had arrived, but due to the extra curricular duelling class, first years flying lesson had been shifted all the way to Christmas. Four months of duelling, and then, they would get the chance to ride a broom. Ron was pretty vocal about how he felt when McGonagall had handed them the routine. He then served a detention with the professor the following weekend.

Nothing unusually strange happened since then, apart from one conversation that Harry had with Hermione. It was on the second Wednesday of the term, while on their way back from the Astronomy class, when she caught up with him, and whispered,

"Listen to me, Harry. You are not concentrating on your studies." She then looked around and continued in an even softer tone.

"It's Ronald. You both sit all the way back, and scribble god knows what on parchments, your assignments are not so good too. It's not right, Harry. How will you learn?!"

"It's fine, Hermione." Harry squirmed uncomfortably. It was true he didn't do so well in Potions, but that was just Snape being a git. Hermione meant well, she was being paranoid. Wasn't it?

Hermione shook her head, and clutching her book bag close to her, she walked away briskly.

* * *

The weekend passed in a blur. Finally, it was Monday, which meant - the first dueling class of the term.

Harry fetched his holster, robes and book from his trunk, and got ready for the class.

Pinned on the common room notice, read a note that mentioned where the class is, and that they will be sharing classes with Slytherins on Mondays and Hufflepuffs on Thursdays. Harry remembered seeing Daphne and Tracey at Potions, but didn't get a chance to talk to them. Slytherin house, as a whole, annoyed Harry to no end. Cause of which, was their ringleader Draco Malfoy.

Harry abhorred Malfoy. The prick never missed an opportunity to pick on his friends, mainly Neville and Ron. There were also one instance when Malfoy jinxed Neville's shoes to tap dance, which took an hour to wear off. Neville had been miserable the entire day. Harry partly looked forward to the duelling lesson, because that might give him the chance to get back at Malfoy.

The duelling class was on the fifth floor, and the only way to get there was by the grand staircases. Unless you wanted to go past the greenhouses, past the owlery, all the way up the clock tower, and ask a portrait to let you pass. Ron's elder twins had been informative enough on a few choiced hidden routes, but this one seemed particularly unhelpful.

They reached the class just in the nick of time, and found the dueling master standing by the door.

"Books, holsters, wands. Bring nothing else inside." He told them, motioning them to keep their bags outside, with the others. Harry occupied a seat in the back of their class, and clipped on his holster. The duelling classroom was by far the largest one Harry had seen. It was long hall, with desks and chairs near the entrance, which leaded up to an open area, as big as any other classroom, which again leaded to a duelling stage.

The professor made his way to the board and began to write. 'MURIC ALPHARDE'.

"Duelling," he said, "has always been a benchmark of a wizard's strength. Traditionally, a wizard's duel is till death, but such harsh measures are hardly taken anymore. Indeed, there are tournaments, but they follow specific guidelines, the details of which will be covered in class. Rest assured, if I find unsupervised duelling sessions occurring in my class or in corridors, both of the valiant duelists will be shipped off home - no excuses entertained."

"Our curriculum will last for four months, after which you all will be able to shoot more than sparks in any formal duel. I will be teaching you jinxes, movements, appropriate duelling stances, and a few defensive spells."

"Personally, I felt the curriculum was quite advanced for first years, but this was not my decision, and if the headmaster believes the students can manage it, I will not argue. In turn, I expect you to focus, be attentive, and advise against tardiness in homework."

Professor Alpharde has the flair of someone adept in keeping attention of the class. A hushed silence followed his speech. "Up to the front of the the class," he suddenly said. "This will be a practical lesson."

Once they had all assembled in the open area, Professor Alpharde asked them to put on their holsters. Harry was helping Ron with his, when they heard a commotion near the Slytherin side.

* * *

Daphne was standing with the group, and held her breath as the professor stormed towards them.

"Mr Malfoy. Is this a standard wand holster?"

What Malfoy was holding was a warded, magic resilient dragon hide holster. "The best one, Professor." Malfoy spoke in a puffed up tone.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as Professor Alpharde looked anything but impressed.

"Of course, simple instructions don't apply to you, do they, Mr Malfoy. A point from Slytherin. Order a standard one, and collect this from me at the term's end."

Daphne watched glumly as Malfoy lost more points for her house. He had lost another one before, for calling herbology a house elf activity. Professor Sprout had heard him, unfortunately, costing them a point.

Draco was seething, and Daphne elbowed him to keep it down.

"Today class, we will cover the knockback jinx." The professor walked up to the centre of the class, and made a wavy wand movement away from the students. Almost immediately, a rattling wooden dummy stood facing them, making rackety noises as it moved towards them.

"FLIPENDO!" Muric jabbed his wand towards the dummy and a blue ball of energy hit it square in the chest. The Gryffindors cheered as the dummy was reduced to pile of rubble. Professor Alpharde gave them a small smile, and instructed everyone to find a partner to practice with. Daphne caught Tracey by the arm, pulled her to the front of the class, before her friend got any ideas.

Once they had formed pairs, they were made to face each other and practice the spell against one another. When Pansy complained about falling on the floor, the professor summoned giant pillows that covered their backs. Getting knocked back became a lot more fun after that.

* * *

The duelling class was by far the best one, in Harry's honest opinion. Malfoy lost a point, Harry knocked Ron back in almost all his attempts, and their teacher seemed really good in his subject. Their homework was different from the rest too - They had to figure out two ways to avoid a knockback jinx in a duel. Imaginative and practical assignments like these were right up Harry's alley.

The next morning, at breakfast, Harry got mail. Hedwig scooped down on his table, poking it's foot out. After Harry had untied the note, it hobbled up to Hermione, who began to feed it some of her bacon.

"You spoil her, Hermione. That's why she likes you best." Harry grinned. The letter was from Hagrid, and read-

 _'Dear Harry._

 _It's been a while since you've come to Hogwarts, so would you like to come and drop by for tea sometime?_

 _Send us an answer by Hedwig._

 _Hagrid_

 _PS. Its the cottage near the forest.'_

Harry fished out a quill and ink from his bag and wrote hurriedly _\- 'Yes Hagrid. This weekend is my friend Hermione's birthday, and I'll bring her along with Ron. Got loads to tell you.'_

Harry tied the letter to Hedwig and sent her off.

The trio then whisked off to the dungeons in a hurry. As far as Potions was concerned, Harry didn't want to give Snape another reason to take points off Gryffindor. He had already lost two.

In hindsight, Harry was glad about Hagrid's invitation. He finally had something to look forward to at the weekend.

* * *

Though it had been years, Muric felt that Greengrass Manor hadn't changed a bit. Standing outside the gate, where he had apparated moments before, Muric found himself stuck at the same place, reminiscing about the past. Had it really been thirty years…

A Greengrass elf appeared beside him, asking him to come inside. Lord and Lady Greengrass stood near the front of the manor, waiting for him.

"Muric Alpharde, it is really you!" Cyrus Greengrass exclaimed as Muric walked up the cobbled steps.

"Lord Greengrass, Lady Greengrass." Muric dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"It's an honour to have you here, Muric." Isabella said, ushering their guest inside.

Muric had been invited to dinner. And one could hardly refuse an invitation from Cyrus Greengrass considering the influence he held in today's Wizengamot. Cyrus had successfully steered his family through the turbulent post-war scene, even after being one of the only noble families to stay neutral throughout. No one - literally - no 'gray' family doubted the decisions he made, making it the most close knit group of families in the ministry. No doubt they had problems of their own, but Cyrus was the unchallenged leader of the Gray.

But the reason Muric was sitting at these Canterbury halls today was far more personal.

"My father always spoke of you well," Cyrus said as they sat in the living room. "So, what brings you back Muric - from the dead, if papers were to be believed."

Muric spoke hesitantly, his was masking the guilt he beared. "In confidence, Cyrus, if I may. I don't plan to stay here long. Just a year, by request of a teacher - that's something I cannot refuse. And, I'm sorry - about your father. I should have been here to pay my respects, but I learnt of it too late."

Cyrus got up and walked slowly to a makeshift drinks bar. Taking off a long-queued bottle, he poured some firewhiskey into two glasses. He handed one to Muric and after a silent toast, they raised their glasses, drinking to the memory of his father.

"He was the only person to believe in me," Muric said heavily, "when I needed support the most. And mind you, he didn't have much standing then, and a young daughter no less. I feel he had more to lose - than me."

"Ophelia, my elder sister, died a year after our father. It wasn't out of nowhere, but it hurt us a lot. Drove me more and more into work." Cyrus breathed in deeply pouring himself another glass. "But we are well now. My little girl is at Hogwarts - how is she?"

"Smart and stays out of trouble. I have a few issues with her work, but nothing serious enough to let her father know." Muric smiled as he told this. "So let's get down to business. What do you need from me, Cyrus?"

"Your support."

"Plenty good that will do," Muric scoffed. "I'm going away in a year, Cyrus. Moreover, I'm just a teacher now. I don't hold any sway in the academy, nor do I know anyone in the ministry. My support doesn't mean anything."

"If even half the stories about you are true, Muric, you're underselling yourself. But then, you see - I know something that no one else clearly knows."

Cyrus looked up with a sly smile, "When you left all at once, everyone thought that He-who-must-not-be-named has finally brought you down. Everyone. Except my father, who never drank to your death or even mentioned it. It was years later, when the war was finally over, in the senility of his deathbed, that he confided in me that you're well, and how proud he is of you."

"But you were a hard man to find, Muric. And unless you packed yourself in a muggle town in the middle of nowhere, I can't imagine someone evading me for a decade, no less. Which made me curious. Where were you all this while - clearly you wish to go back, but it's Albus Dumbledore who wants you here."

Cyrus had been walking through his monologue, and was staring out of the window, when Muric interjected, "Before you continue, I am bound by oaths. You should know that."

Cyrus turned to face Muric, his arms raised in a placating surrender. "And I respect your privacy. Just don't expect me to buy the 'my time has passed' nonsense."

Muric sighed and put his glass on the side table. Crossing one leg over another, he finally relaxed into the room, taking in the massive information every piece of furniture offered. Cyrus stood there, leaning against the window, watching, as his guest finally showing his true colours.

The manor wards flared once, twice and by the third time, Cyrus let out a soft groan. The sheer magical buildup which he was witnessing - it was terrifying, frankly speaking. The flaring slowly subsided, and Muric opened his eyes looking at his host.

"Let's talk."

"Indeed," Cyrus smiled, "but first, dinner."

* * *

When Hermione woke up, on her birthday, she didn't at once rush out of bed to get her morning started. Instead, she buried her face into her pillow, and cried a little. It was her first birthday away from home, and for the first time since she had arrived, she felt terribly homesick. She missed her parents so much. After her while, when her tears had turned into sniffles, she sat upright to face the day. And if possible, not be an entire mess during it.

It was a standard Hogwarts weekend. Classes till lunch, and they were free after that. Once ready, she made her way down her dormitory, wondering if Harry was awake yet.

She had barely reached the end of the stairs, that Harry and Ron jumped up from behind the couches, frightening her out of her wits. Neville emerged a moment too late, but it pleased her nonetheless that her friends took initiative to do something special. While they were singing Happy Birthday, she informed them rather sharply that she detested jump scares, but with everyone grinning like a loon, her point didn't quite make it across.

Hermione really liked the schedule on Saturdays- they just had double transfiguration (which was her favorite), and lots of free time after lunch. Transfiguration, as a subject was fascinating enough, but when Professor McGonagall would begin to explain the mechanics behind every incantation, or the power of intent, Hermione would find herself immersed in the lecture. It was magic, in every form she had imagined.

In their practical lesson, she finally managed to turn her needle back into a matchstick, a feat that took her all week. She was the first from the class (as usual); Professor McGonagall gave her two points (her highest at one go), and a rare smile. Hermione had never felt as happy as she did then.

After lunch, the Harry and Ron went uncomplaining with her to the library ("As the birthday girl wishes!"), under the condition that they would go for a walk in the grounds sometime later. Hermione had finished her transfiguration essay by the time they finished a game of chess. Harry seemed to learn something new, every time he played chess, and the increased game lengths insinuated that the day wasn't far when Ron would finally lose.

She politely declined when Ron offered to play against her.

The three of them exited the library, and made way to the grounds via the transfiguration courtyard. Once they had reached the clocktower, Harry finally revealed where they were going.

"Hagrid's."

"Harry, we shouldn't barge in unnecessarily." Hermione complained while walking. "Goodness, he will not be expecting us."

"But he _is_ expecting us. In fact, he invited us all just a couple days back."

Hermione didn't look convinced, but she still followed them to the groundskeeper's hut. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door. Harry went up and knocked.

A lot of scrambling could be heard from inside the hut, accompanied by loud, booming barks. While Hermione didn't mind dogs, she wondered how they would all fit inside the small hut. The door opened, and there stood Hagrid, holding the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

"Back, Fang." He muttered. "Harry! Come in, ye all. And who's this one? Another Weasley, eh. And yeh must be Hermione. Make yerselves at home."

The insides of the hut, most definitely, were larger than it looked from the exterior. It was a cozy place, with a fireplace, a large bed with a patchwork quilt, and pheasants hanging from the roof. Hermione was looking around curiously, when Hagrid retreated to the kitchenette, and brought out a brown box.

"This is fer yeh, Hermione. Made it just this morning." Hermione took the package from Hagrid, and began to pry off the lid. It was a pink cake, with ' _Happy Birthday Hermione_ ' written in red. "Harry told us in his letter, abou' it being yer birthday -".

Hagrid couldn't finish his sentence that Hermione buried her face into the closest shoulder she found (Ron's), and cried. She cried till tears wouldn't flow.

It had been her best birthday.

* * *

 **Now that all my characters are finally where I want them, I feel my story can go forward. The past couple of days, I've read and reread all reviews posted, and I must say, they help a lot. So thanks to all you reviewers. Hope you all like this chappie, and have a good one.**

 **PS. About the last scene, I wrote that from experience, as I too was shipped off to a boarding school, when I was 10. So, I resonated the scene with my personal feelings.**

 **Fic Recommendation-** This author is one of the most helpful, and friendly people I've found in this community. And of course, she writes some of the best Harry-Daphne fics. 'A Marriage of Convenience' by Dorothea Greengrass. It is wooooorth reading. Please check it out.


	9. A price you can't afford

**Disclaimer-** The Wizarding World and all in it belongs to JKR, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros, etc.

 **Author's note-** I'm a little late, but that's fine. This chapter puts into perspective what I really imagined my story to convey, and I'm really happy to be at a place where I can write stuff I had in my head for quite some time. Thanks to both Tide and Sassy, they've made the story what it is.

 **Tide's note-** A great chapter as always from Rain. I thoroughly enjoy his writing style because it gives off a certain feeling of apprehension. If that made any sense.

 **Sassy's note-** I'm quite sure that Alpharde is my favourite character right now. It is amazing how much of a descriptive person he has become. I'm still wondering about his secrets. Alas, I do not know all of them. My influence is definitely improving the work, I can tell. Lol, I'm kidding….. Or Am I? Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a very nice time waiting for chapter 9. I can't wait either.

* * *

 _She obviously knew what she was doing._

 _As we walked towards the distorted shadows of trees, I could feel the significance of the park in my head. What surprised me were the details I could see in the surroundings - details that I never thought I knew. This memory was around when I was six. How could I remember so much about it?!_

 _We sat on a pair of swings, watching my younger self drawing something on the ground. As we sat there idly, I asked, "How did you know? Where to find me."_

 _She simply smiled._

" _What were you drawing, Harry?"_

" _I don't know," I answered truthfully._

 _All we could see from here were swirling circles. It made me wonder about forgetting details of a memory, would it reflect upon revisiting it in a pensieve? It certainly felt that way._

" _It's about to start." I solemnly said as a massive brick of familiarity hit me._

* * *

 **A price you can't afford**

By the time September was almost over, Harry had found out that the professors had been assigning homework leniently to the first years, till they felt that the young children had settled down. Well, all except Snape. And that leniency had begun to decline, evident by the massive amounts of work which had to be submitted on Monday. Harry, however, had been waiting for the weekend for an entirely different purpose - the House team selections for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.

Ron had been more than happy to accompany Harry to the stands, but as it turned out, they weren't the only ones interested in the tryouts. Alongside them, were a group of Slytherin third years, carrying something like a bugle, which made a really loud, irritating hoot when blown. The team ignored them, and so did Harry, who was a lot more interested in the prospect of watching Quidditch. Unfortunately, the tryouts didn't go as well as they had hoped.

Michael Pebblebury was the only sixth year in the Gryffindor team. That too, he had been promoted from reserve chaser to the team seeker, for the lack of better options. Apart from him, Oliver Wood, fifth year, was the captain. And the rest of the team were third years, or lower. Ravenclaw however, boasted of an experienced team, with the majority of its players in their OWL or NEWT years, which meant that Gryffindor needed loads of practice and a pinch of luck if they even dared to stand in the race for the coveted Quidditch Cup.

A lot had happened in classes too.

For one, duelling lessons were beginning to get really competitive. And although the duels were among students of the same house for now, the day seemed very close that Gryffindors would be trading spells against Slytherins, for entirely educational purposes. Professor Alpharde had even gone ahead and promised them an inter-house duelling match by the end of the week. The excitement brought by the announcement was visible in both sides of the class, with the same question stuck in their minds - _Who will duel whom?_

Most of the classes had been quite dull, mainly because teachers expected them to master the theory behind every small movement in their actions. Especially Transfiguration. After a few incidents of exploding matchsticks, courtesy of Neville and Seamus, McGonagall had decided to detain all wandwork till _everyone_ in their class could manage an Acceptable in their theory test. Her plan obviously backfired, as the increased pressure hampered the slight progress Neville was making, and now the entire class was stuck on a sadistic theory loop, making transfiguration an absolute nightmare. Well, for all, except Hermione, for whom it was like Christmas, only just a couple months early.

* * *

Currently, Harry lay asleep, with a mess of parchments littered atop his bedside table. Most notable of them all was a cut-out from the _Daily Prophet_ which he had borrowed from Hagrid. Various lines and words had been circled in black, highlighting the details of the Gringotts thievery incident the article was about. The article had been a hot topic of discussion between the trio, and they (mainly Hermione) had come to the conclusion that first years should not stick their noses in things beyond their reach.

Below the article, lay a copy of the termly newsletter, _The Snitch_ \- that had been surprisingly interesting. Hermione had been particularly excited about the prospect of a literary club being present at Hogwarts and was eager to be a part of it. Ron thought she was absolutely barmy.

The newspaper cutting was the last thing in Harry's mind when he woke up, for today it was Monday. At quarter past eight, Harry sat the house table, with his duelling text book propped against the juice jug. He was frantically writing, finishing up the assignment due in less than an hour. Hermione, in an equally frantic demeanor, was checking what he had written, crossing and correcting any spelling mistakes he'd made.

"Honestly Harry, I knew you were cutting it rather close, but this is - sloppy."

"I know, Hermione", Harry replied gritting his teeth, "but let's just get it over with. Do you think it's a foot long yet?"

Hermione tilted her head, peering at the parchment as Harry held it out to her, "Looks alright. Should get Acceptable, at least. Hold on, write an inch more, Professor Alpharde is a stickler for length."

"Right," Harry mumbled and began to jot down a few more points from the book.

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall had been going around asking third years for their Hogsmeade slips. At the sight of them working on their essay, she strode towards them. "Mr Potter," she looked at him disapprovingly, "I don't think that the breakfast table is the appropriate place to finish your homework."

Harry muttered a quick apology and answered, "I'm nearly done, Professor."

"Hurry up then, and don't be late for class. You too, Ms Granger. Tardiness is not tolerated here, no matter how noble your cause is." With that, she left the two to their business.

"Done!" Harry exclaimed triumphantly and looked over his handiwork. "Not too shabby, huh Hermione."

Hermione glared at him, "I'm not going to help you again if you delay your work so much. We had a week for this assignment. Now put that book away." She picked up a toast from the dishes and began to butter it.

Hardly a minute had passed, when Ron sat down heavily beside Hermione.

"You've got to help me, Hermione. Professor Alpharde will murder me today! "

Hermione put down her toast and sighed a deep exasperated sigh.

"You had a week, Ron. A week! Ugh, you both make me so mad!"

* * *

It had been Friday, two days before Halloween, that Professor Alpharde addressed the school at breakfast. After a brief discussion with McGonagall and Snape, which had occurred in full view of the student body, the duelling master took the podium-

"Attention, students." The professor announced. The buzz of conversation died down slowly, with all eyes at the head table.

"As many of you may know, a piece of information has been spreading through the student body, that I am planning to conduct an inter-house duel. And I must clarify that I had no intention of making this a public event and that it was a closed demonstration that I had been planning for the first years."

"But after a fine discussion with my colleagues, I realise that you all could benefit by watching a duel, which follows the appropriate guidelines and is a very imminent part of our culture. Therefore, all pre-lunch classes are cancelled, and I want the entire student body to be present at the Great Hall sharp at ten."

A loud cheer broke out in the hall. Ron was ecstatic as he reminded them that they just avoided double potions with Slytherins. The talk of the table shifted from homework to the possible candidates of the duel. The most ridiculous one coming from Neville.

"Me?!" Harry spluttered. "I hardly know anything about duelling."

"But you're the best in our class, Harry," Neville argured. "You get the spells he teaches, without even trying. Even Hermione struggled with that tickling one, and you know how much she studies."

"The duel will not be for first years, Neville. I'm sure Professor will ask Jeremy or someone to demonstrate," Hermione interjected, trying to bring reason to the conversation.

"Brilliant right," Seamus grinned, "Harry Potter against the head boy, Jeremy Stiel. Gryffindor battles Slytherin, where age plays no part. Almost like a story, isn't it?"

"An idiotic one." Ron put in his two knuts. "Don't go pale now Harry, I'm sure you won't go against a seventh year. Though Fred and George told me that Slytherins have their own duelling pit, with Stiel as their quartermaster. They may be lying, but the bloke would be a decent dueller if it were true."

Harry turned grim as he spoke. "I don't think this helps out the house rivalry issue though. It's a duel, and duels can turn nasty. The house members may not stay silent if their candidate is getting hexed."

"The teachers know what they're doing Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Let's leave it at that."

Ron exchanged a doubtful look with Harry and shifted his focus to the eggs.

* * *

Hermione, like always, was right. The Gryffindor first years stood ten feet away from the duelling stand, which hadn't existed an hour earlier, leaning on a bannister that was erected for their safety. The hall began to fill up, and with the students also came the heads of the houses, Professor Sinistra, Madame Hooch, and surprisingly, the headmaster. At the duelling stand stood Jeremy, and against him Nigel Christopher Flack.

Neville giddily said, "It is a showdown, Seamus. Gryffindor seventh year prefect, against Slytherin seventh year prefect."

In Harry's head, this was more than a showdown. This was a battle of superiority. The two houses had a history, and none could argue that fact, but a full fledged house duel, as the first ever officiated duel in a long time - this was a statement. One made by the third person on the stand, Professor Alpharde, that he could handle the heat. Keep it in control.

Professor Alpharde walked to the centre of the stage, donning a purple duelling robe.

"With my signal, the first official duel of the term will begin. Many such duels are to follow, and so I advise every individual in the audience to wait for their turn. I see a wand pointing towards the pit, and that would mark the end of an illustrious schooling life. Watch, and learn."

Professor Alpharde turned towards the duellists and nodded. "We will follow the Geneva guidelines, 1989. Wands at ready. Bow."

Hermione mentioned excitedly that the Geneva guidelines excluded any lethal spells. Harry never left sight of the pit, his knuckles whitened at the barricade as the two duellists bowed, and raised their wands. With a flair, the professor threw his kerchief high, signalling the commencement of the duel as it lands.

And the duel began!

So much happened so fast, that Harry could hardly follow all that happened. Nigel pounced forward as soon as the velvet handkerchief touched the ground, with his wand as low as the wooden floorboards. A barrage of bluish white bursts raced at Jeremy. Without sparing a glance at the opponent, Nigel leapt to his right, flanking one end of the arena, and waved his wand in a complicated gesture. A rocky crack opened near the centre of the arena, which erupted in a straight line towards the head boy.

Jeremy hadn't moved an inch since the duel started, and once the rocks were less than a feet away from him, it became evident why. A translucent white shield hovered in front of the Slytherin prefect, which neutralized the rock's impact like it was paper mache. Any onslaught on the shield was absorbed and nullified, and that had little or no effect of the opacity of the shield.

"Convulu! Stupify! Secedica!" Nigel shouted, completing three complicated wand movements in one dramatic flourish. The crowd cheered as the spells raced towards their target in quick succession.

Jeremy didn't walk, or run, or jump. To Harry, Stiel was waltzing in the pit. The three spells harmlessly whizzed past the Slytherin prefect, all because he moved ever so slightly from where he was. Nigel, clearly packed a punch and his spells were strong, but what couldn't hit Stiel couldn't hurt him. And Nigel was having issues getting his spells even remotely near Stiel, who was navigating through Nigel's spells as if he knew what Nigel would cast exactly when.

And just like that, as if the competition bored him, Stiel took Nigel out with a well-timed stunner. A low jeer erupted somewhere in the hall, which was quickly drowned by a thunderous applause. It was a no brainer that Nigel was beaten, fair and square - and so comprehensively that they had not been in the same league from the start of the duel. Professor Alpharde finite'd Nigel, who then shook his opponent's hand. The professor had a quiet word with the two, and they exited the stage.

While the first year Gryffindors were visibly impressed by the duelling prowess of their seniors, the emotion that lingered most in their talks was that of a Gryffindor defeat. The chattering crowds began to walk out of the halls, happy to enjoy a little more free time before classes resumed. Muric asked their class to stay back, which Harry found to be rather strange, considering he didn't do the same for the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff class. Once the hall was quiet, Professor Alpharde addressed them-

"Who can tell me where Flack went wrong?"

Silence.

"Alright, where did Stiel go wrong?"

From somewhere behind, Pansy's nasal voice was heard, "But professor, didn't Jeremy win."

Professor Alpharde shook his head in disappointment, and continued, "Clearly you all haven't understood practical duelling yet. And I'm not about to hand out answers in a platter. Two feet of parchment with details of the duel..." - the entire class groaned and complained - "due Monday!" The professor finished loudly.

"But sir, it's Halloween weekend." A voice said, almost distraught.

"And the feast has nothing to do with your homework," Muric said lucidly.

The professor paused. And stood there silently for a while. He looked as if he was planning something, and the class knew better than to disturb him. They stood in silence for a moment, following which a smile shone on the professor's face.

"Hold that assignment." He responded, holding up his hand as a gesture of patience.

And when he next spoke, it was in a distant tone, as if he was reminiscing and retelling. "Today - we will be trying something new. Some paths exist here in Hogwarts, that others don't want to tread. But I refuse to look the other way, per my convenience. The fact has been, and still stands," - at this point, Muric's voice had grown louder to the precipice of shouting - "that we need to channel this long-standing rivalry between houses to our advantage. Another duel, tomorrow. Closed event. Meaning no one, but this class to be present. One Gryffindor duelist, and one Slytherin. The victor's house need not submit an assignment, while the other's must submit two. One summary of today's duel, and one of this one, which is to be held tomorrow, at the duelling class."

The entire class gaped at their teacher. From McGonagall to Snape, none of their other professors had breached the subject of inter house tensions. And here, their progress in class depended on one house outscoring the other.

"You have five minutes to volunteer names, or else, I'll pick."

Five minutes? It took two seconds.

"Harry!" Shouted Neville.

"Draco!" Pansy screamed.

"Daphne!" Tracey shouted exuberantly.

There was complete pandemonium. Harry faced his house, looking doubtful. "Hermione?" He asked, to no one in particular, in a weak voice.

"No way, Harry." Dean grinned. "We have our bet on you.

Malfoy looked straight at Harry, with a smug smile plastered on his face.

Daphne glared at Tracey.

"Sort it on your own. I'm not particularly worried when it comes to Slytherin." Muric dismissed them. "Tomorrow, after lunch, I expect all of you to be present. The duellists should know the Geneva rules by heart. Prepare for the duel. As I will be officiating, no need for seconds."

The receding class was of mixed emotions. Some tensed, some excited. Some just thought this was a bad idea. But there was one thing common in all, that they wouldn't miss tomorrow's session for anything.

* * *

On the far end of one side of the Slytherin common room, sat a couple armchairs, a designed bookshelf and a painting from the French Renaissance. That particular spot had been carpeted white, which gave it a distinct look. A good thing too, because that particular spot belonged to Grace Winters, the head girl, and distinctions such as these kept most of her underlings in hierarchical control.

One could find Grace seated there, most of the time. She had one ear with her company, and another focused on the chatter of the room. And having the responsibility of a house like Slytherin required such a trait in bounds.

"Lisa, did you hear?" She asked from her armchair.

Elisabeth, who had been browsing the bookshelf, replied, "Yes. "

"What do you think?" Grace asked.

Elisabeth picked out a book on Herbology and crashed back into a fluff armchair. Tying her hair in a bun, she replied, "Nothing there to think about. We should focus on avoiding the whole idea - I'll bet Dumbledore will do something about it."

"Greengrass - right?" Grace asked, stretching, stifling a yawn.

* * *

Daphne sat at the centre library table in their common room, scratching off spells from a list she and Tracey had devised. Tracey sat across, her head buried in a tome, nibbling the end of her quill.

"Remind me again, why did I shout out your name," Tracey grumbled.

"Tempus."

"What's done is done. Let's go, we have the pit for half an hour." Daphne said and got up from her seat. The duel against Malfoy was after dinner, and she had far too less time to prepare for it. She had called in all favours, which got her the pit for practice, and a few students to help her out too.

Daphne avoided the gaze of various upperclassmen, who were present in the common room. The duel had become a big scoop, apparently, and everyone had an opinion of their own which they wanted to share. But Daphne couldn't care less. She had been waiting for a chance such as this for an eternity, and now it was time. Duelling is a surefire test of superiority and this was her break. Grasping opportunities was something that came naturally to her, after all, she was her father's daughter.

Theodore Nott waited for her by the pit. He was her best bet to freshen up all spells and jinxes. Notts were ancestrally duelists and had all kinds of laurels to their names. Theo, however, was just a big bookworm, and Daphne required the help of one.

"Ready, Greengrass?"

Daphne nodded and opened the gate to the duelling area. But before she could enter, she found herself facing Elisabeth Dormiens.

"I booked it." Daphne said defensively.

"I don't doubt it." The prefect said, "Grace wants a word, though. This can wait."

Daphne exchanged a panic-stricken look with Tracey and followed the prefect to the most coveted spot in the common room. A fresh smell of spruce greeted her as she stood across the head girl.

"Daphne Greengrass." Grace began. "I've kept my eye on you."

Daphne pursed her lips but said nothing. She knew that she had done nothing wrong, but that didn't stop her from panicking.

"After all, you have been contributing most from the first years to our house. Most points, no complaints. You seem rather determined too. And now, you've been called to represent our house in a duel. I'm impressed."

Daphne felt her heart soar up at the compliments. Grace had been a role model of sorts for her, from day one, and her words meant a lot to her.

"Step out from the duels."

And just like that all mirth, warmth, and soft talk vanished. Daphne stared right at Grace, who looked back with emotionless eyes. She felt distraught, even betrayed, and it took all the courage she could muster to speak.

"You don't think I can win?"

Grace fiddled with her wand, as she responded, "While I don't doubt your abilities, I believe this duel will make you pay. A price you can't afford."

"You're wrong," Daphne replied, now trembling, "I can beat them."

"Do you think I'm giving you a choice?" Grace said, in a voice colder than ice, and a glare to match it.

Daphne said nothing, she turned around walked out the main hall.

Elisabeth said after a while, "Harsh."

Grace rubbed her eyes, in a tired manner. "Alpharde has gone mad. Pitting students against one another. There will be no winners out of this."

Elisabeth hummed in agreement, "Still. You went too far, don't you think. I mean, she has to go through backtracking a duel. She won't live that down a while."

Grace smiled at her friend.

"Did you look at how she held herself against us. Anyone else would be reduced to tears and accusations, but she would rather bite her tongue than lose her composure. People like her are rare." Grace held her right hand high, watching the back of her hand, where the insignia on her ring was.

"Couple of years more, and this girl will be leading the most versatile house in the country. A gray house can't make enemies for life, it must survive on the edge of both ends, with the dignity of a rope walker. If Alpharde wants blood, he can have it, but not at the cost of mine."

Elisabeth sat back on an armchair across Grace, "You really must like her."

Grace said nothing in reply, and Elisabeth got her answer.

* * *

 **Fic Recommendation-** So, this fic was slightly different than the rest. I read it a while back and didn't like it much. Then the author apparently worked on it, and on rereading, I found that this has been the best Daphne POV fic I've found. No competition. Read it if you like Daphne as a character. 'Daphne Greengrass, Side Character' by 'LinzRW'.

 **Really happy my story crossed the 500 mark with the last chapter. Post a review and lemme know how you feel about the chapter.**


	10. Honour at Stake

**Disclaimer-** The Wizarding World and all in it belongs to JKR, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros, etc.

 **Author's note-** So, long time. Sorry for the delay. This chapter initially was a pain to write, but the last half was perhaps the most fun I've ever had writing anything.

 **Tide's note-** As always Rain keeps his readers hanging and as always he doesn't disappoint.

 **Sassy's note-** Sassy here. Thankyou for reading this fantastic story thus far, I'm promising there's a lot of good quality coming up soon! The duel of the day has finally arrived and it got me excited. The imagination used for this is inexplicable and I really enjoyed reading through this chapter. Hoping you all are still as excited as I am!

* * *

 _Pensieves, I realized, relied a lot on shadows. There is no colour here, nothing to paint the world as it is, but the play of light, darkness and hovering shadows - just shadows._

 _We approached my past self quietly, keeping close to the swings and see saws, and true to my anticipation, the dark figure of an aged man appeared as if out of nowhere. Beside me, she tensed up, grabbing her wand tightly momentarily forgetting that we were in a memory._

" _Do you know, Harry, who this man is?" She asked me quietly._

" _No."_

" _The darkest and possibly the foulest wizard who exists. This is the Dark Lord Grindelwald. Who is supposed to be under incarceration in the safest prison in the world." Her voice grew shriller with a tone of urgency._

" _We need to go now." She whispered._

* * *

 **Honour at Stake**

"What did she want?" Tracey asked in a hushed tone, rocking back and forth on her bed.

"She told me to drop the duel. Merlin, you should have been there Tracey, it was terrifying." Daphne said while pacing around her dorm. "Can I even do anything now?! Sit back and watch Malfoy trot around with that smug smile - why, that bugger…"

"All eyes are on you Daphne, don't do anything stupid."

Daphne shot her a look and rushed to close the first year's dormitory door.

"What I am going to ask you now Tracey, is treason. If we get caught, we are done. So, back out now, if you want to."

"Out with it already, drama queen," Tracey muttered.

Daphne continued, "I need to talk to Potter. Heavens, he would have no idea just how serious this duel has become. Rumours fly that Jeremy himself was talking to Malfoy, and I saw him practicing with Bletchley myself. Trace, Malfoy may be a prick, but he is no slouch in duelling. Potter needs to know what he is in for."

"You need to get Potter to the third abandoned classroom on the second floor. You found it the first week, remember. And don't be seen with him, or even near him. We need to be careful, this is serious." Daphne finished in a tense tone, waiting for a response.

Tracey stared at her best friend for a good long while, began to say something, but quickly shut her mouth.

Then she whispered, "So, let me get this straight. You want to tutor Potter, to get him to beat Malfoy."

"Yes."

"And I need to convince Potter, without speaking to him, that meeting a potential Slytherin competitor is a good idea."

"Yes," Daphne said, a little hesitantly.

"And here I was thinking that this year would be a _terrible_ bore." Tracey finished, grinning.

"Great!" Daphne exclaimed, "So, I have it all figured out."

Daphne held up her hand, counting off her plan using her fingers. "Granger will be at her spot, in the library. Firstly, you need to find out what she is studying. Then, you get a book of the same topic, and approach her, to ask a doubt. Meanwhile, in the book, you need to slip a brief note to her explaining the situation. They're Gryffindors, curious as kneazles, and will probably turn up."

"Daphne, Daph - seriously - notes, 'probably turn up', and Granger, that's your plan. Wow, thank your lucky stars you didn't try to do this without me." Tracey got up from her bed, and mock bowed. "Watch now, how a professional does it."

Saying that, Tracey patted Daphne on the head and walked out of the dormitory.

"Oh, I hope I don't regret this," Daphne said worriedly to the empty room.

* * *

Harry had been sitting idly at the Gryffindor table at dinner, listening to Lavender talk about some theatre show, when Susan Bones walked up to him.

Now Susan had been nothing but friendly, in the brief time they spent as classmates during Herbology, and Harry greeted her with a smile. Harry motioned to an empty spot across him, which Susan slid into after a moment's hesitation.

"Treacle tart! Yum." Susan said. She pulled Neville's side plate towards herself and helped a piece of the dessert onto it.

"I hear you have a big duel tomorrow, Harry. Prepared?"

"As prepared as I can be," Harry answered between bites. "Will you be watching?"

"No, though I suppose our class will get a spectacle of our own. Anyways, I didn't just come here to chat. There is someone you must meet after dinner."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"I'm not really sure," Susan answered. "So, Terry asked me to tell you this, and Michael told Terry about this, and apparently Michael was told to pass this information by Sally. It's all really confusing. I'm here, simply because I owed Terry a favour."

"Okay," Harry said slowly, and exchanged a look with Hermione. "Where is this meeting?"

"Second floor, empty classroom beside the portrait of Frederick the Forgotten."

"Don't mind me saying so, Susan, but all this is very fishy. Harry has a duel tomorrow, and suddenly someone wants to meet him, out of nowhere, that too in an empty classroom." Hermione reasoned.

Susan picked the last bite of her tart with a fork, and pointed it at Hermione. "I figured that. This didn't make sense to me, but you all might understand it better. 300 to 30. That was the last part of my message. I wouldn't recommend you to go, Harry, but that is just my opinion. Good luck for tomorrow. " Susan got up, and left them to their thoughts.

"You're not going to go, are you Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Wonder what this is about." Harry said absently. "Reckon I might have gone if I knew who wanted to talk, but it could be very unfriendly Slytherins behind this, for all we know."

"I know who's behind this." Ron's eyes grew large as he realized something. "It's Tracey Davis. 300-30, right. Cannons lost to Tornadoes last season, 300-30. I told her about the Cannons rivalry at the express, there is no way anyone else could know this."

"Tracey huh," Harry stated. "You both will come with me, won't you?

His two friends nodded.

* * *

In the said abandoned classroom, Daphne sat alongside Tracey, with her mood getting sourer as every minute passed.

"Tempus."

"They'll be here, Daphne. Will you relax?"

Daphne sat put for a couple minutes, before drawing out her wand again.

"Tempus."

"Merlin, Daph. Give it a rest." Tracey fished out a pack of exploding cards from her robes and held it out to her friend. "What do you say, a round of snap?"

Daphne took her face in her hands and started to tremble slightly. Then as her barrage of patience broke, she slammed her hands on the desk. "NO! No Tracey! I don't want to play snap. Merlin, why did I even bother! Have you any idea what will happen if we get caught. These Gryffindors will be the death of us."

"Don't waste your breath, Daph," Tracey muttered while shuffling the cards. "Anyways, makes no sense to shout at me. I mean, vent all you want, but I'm the one you dragged into this mess and you don't hear me complain."

Tracey cut the deck into two piles and handed one to Daphne. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen. They don't show, and we get stood up. That makes us 'not guilty' of house treason."

"You're right," Daphne said guiltily.

Shuffling her deck, Daphne turned all cards upside down and walked slightly away from Tracey. Then the two of them began to place cards one by one on their playing table. The rules of exploding snap were simple, if the two cards put down sequentially were the same, one of the players needed to say, 'Snap'. The faster player would get the middle pile of cards, giving them more breathing space to beat the other. If both of them missed, well, as the name suggests, the cards would explode. Same result if two mismatched cards were 'snapped'.

"Snap." Daphne picked up the middle pile of played cards, as they matched two Bulgarian trolls.

"Snap!" Tracey said, and gathered the middle pile.

And then began a long chain of sequences, where no two cards happened to be the same. The two of them put cards after cards, getting more and more engrossed in the game, till Tracey was left with hardly five cards in her hand.

Daphne placed a house elf card.

Tracey placed a Gringott's bank card.

Daphne placed a Goblin card.

Tracey yelled. "SNAP!" And the enormous pile of cards exploded covering both of them in a black sooty powder.

"Bloody hell!" Someone exclaimed from her right. Daphne squeaked in surprise, and turned to find Harry, Ron and Hermione, in an equal powdery state staring at the mess in front of them.

"How could you match a Building with a Goblin?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I panicked." Tracey wailed.

"You're late," Daphne said narrowing her eyes. "And we don't have much time."

"Hello, Daphne, nice to meet you too," Harry said in an amused tone. "You could have just stayed back after potions, or the duel, if you needed to talk. Considering the message trail, half of our batch would know about this 'secret meeting'." Harry emphasized the last part with air quotes.

Tracey stuffed the cards into her pocket and tutted at the Gryffindors. "I'll have you know, naive Gryffindors, that the message went through a very specific trail of people- who were either Hufflepuff enough not to venture out close to curfew, or Ravenclaw enough not to care -".

"-And this is not a fun group meeting, Potter." Daphne interrupted. "I will not be duelling tomorrow. Merlin knows how much I want to, but as the circumstances are, my house backs Draco Malfoy. And I am making sure that you beat the little chit to dust."

"Blimey, what do you mean your house backs Malfoy? It's just a class duel now, isn't it?" Ron asked her.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it. This duel is very significant. A wizard's duel always is. Gods it pains me to say this, but Malfoy is not that bad a duellist. We saw him trading spells in the pit, and that too against a second year." Tracey said nervously.

"Tempus." Daphne softened a little. "We have little less than an hour, Harry. Let's make it count. I know a lot about Malfoy's strategy. Ask me anything- "

"Hold on." Harry said raising his hand, slightly annoyed. "As much as I appreciate the thought, Daphne, I can handle Malfoy."

"Just offering help, Potter. You might need it." Daphne replied through gritted teeth.

Tracey and Hermione exchanged a quick look and edged slightly closer to the duo.

"And I might not." Harry responded with an equal glare.

The room grew colder every passing second, with the five students standing in a deadlock, saying absolutely nothing. After, what felt like an eternity, Daphne huffed, "This is stupid. I can't force you to accept my help. But listen Potter, if Malfoy pulls off this plan of his, that will affect me. And I will be very displeased with you, if you lose because you let pride come in the way. Merlin, I feel stupid."

Daphne pulled Tracey towards the door, not sparing a backwards glance. At the door, she stopped and looked back frowning slightly. "Good luck Potter, you have to win." Saying so, the two Slytherins walked off.

* * *

Breakfast, needless to say, was an interesting affair. Though the duel was supposed to be a hushed event, somehow everyone knew about it. And this time Fred and George had even set up a sort of betting pool, given the popularity of a Gryffindor-Slytherin standoff.

Harry was approached by a variety of folks, which included the Gryffindor prefect Nigel, a couple seventh year Ravenclaws and the Ravenclaw beater, who all wanted him to thrash Malfoy. Occasionally, a person would walk up to him, wish him luck and whisper somewhat urgently that he had to win, considering the fellow had bet everything on the Boy-Who-Lived. Understandably, Harry lost all of the little appetite he had mustered. He glanced at the Slytherin table, and found nothing but murderous glares being sent his way, mainly by the upper year students. Daphne too looked at him pointedly, with an expression that said - 'Whatcha' got', which actually gave Harry enough motivation to shake himself together and focus on the text in front of him.

"Now remember Harry," Hermione rambled on. "The Geneva convention disallows elemental transfiguration, or counjurings. You must keep the duel solely to jinxes and spellwork, nothing lethal. No dismemberment, slashing, hexes, or curses..."

Ron looked a little sick over his bowl of porridge. "Really Hermione," he said pushing the bowl aside. "Elemental transfiguration?! Percy doesn't know elemental transfiguration! And Harry won't be cursing Malfoy, not in front of Professor Alpharde at least." Ron looked at Harry slightly anxious, "Right Harry?"

Harry looked over from his notes, and mumbled something affirmatively.

The Slytherin tables, which had been relatively quiet this entire while, burst into a cheer as Malfoy walked in. Along with him entered Jeremy Stiels, who was talking to Malfoy about something. To his credit, Malfoy seemed very serious, nodding at Jeremy, and swishing his wand every few seconds. Harry suddenly felt sick at the thought of being underprepared. The Slytherins began to get louder, booing at the Gryffindor table and before things went out of hand, Snape - of all people- went over to his house and put a stopper at the exhibition. Harry, however picked up his books and stormed out of the hall, with his two friends exiting in quick succession.

"Don't let it get to you Harry," Ron said as they matched steps.

"I'm fine." Harry said, with a terse smile. "Just want to be done with this duel."

"Come now Harry, have a little faith in yourself." Hermione coyly said as they went past the Entrance Courtyard. "You've worked hard for this duel, and you didn't need a seventh year to prepare you for it."

Harry nodded, not really sure how to respond to that.

* * *

"Welcome, welcome to the first interhouse first year duel of the year. As extra credit given for submitting a fabulous assignment, I, Terry Boot will be commentating on today's highlight duel, where Gryffindor's Harry Potter will go against Slytherin's Draco Malfoy."

A huge cheer broke out in the defence classroom. The clear anticipation of the duel won over the fact that a random Ravenclaw was running a commentary, and the audience went along with it. Ravenclaw was mostly neutral anyways. Professor Alpharde was on the stage, which was different from the one the had during classes. Instead of a long rectangular stand, this was circular pit.

The two houses stood around the periphery of the pit, where the safety bannisters we're already in place. Harry ignored the dipping feeling in his stomach and accepted the cheers with a smile plastered to his face. Bending below the bannisters, he jumped into the pit, facing Malfoy who, for once was dead silent. Boot was sitting somewhere higher that everyone, pointing his glowing wand to his throat.

Professor Alpharde raised his hands, and the noise downed out.

"Duels make statements. No one ever wins a duel if they don't care to put their pride, their honour at stake. And it takes heart to put down all your worth, and have nothing but your wand to defend you. Unfortunately, your curriculum hasn't covered shields, so we must accommodate."

With a swish of his wand, the ground began to tremble and rocks began to emerge from underneath them. Harry, who wasn't expecting this, backed himself against the pit, watching ahead as Malfoy went out of sight. Once the protruding rocks were head level, Professor Alpharde broke the spell. The rocks were distributed somewhat oddly, with a slight advantage to where Malfoy stood. "These will defend you against jinxes," Muric addressed the two. "As you see, the rock formation favours Mr Malfoy, who is well defended. The advantage shifts to Mr Potter in ninety seconds, and then again to Mr Malfoy."

The room began to buzz with excited whispers. "This is neat." Ron exclaimed. "I've never heard of obstacles in a duel before!" Harry surveyed his location, walking around a bit, looking for an angle to aim at Malfoy.

"I want a clean duel. As customs dictate, the duellists will walk upto each other, bow, and start at my count of three. And Mr Boot, if I hear you spilling any tactics of any duellist, I'll vanish your stand. Wands at ready!"

Harry drew his wand and approached the centre of the pit. He looked around one final time, amazed at the details of his surroundings. He saw Ron, Hermione, and his other Gryffindor pals with mixed expressions of worry and excitement. Professor Alpharde had exited the pit, and was watching their moves like a purple robed hawk. And lastly, there was Greengrass, with her calculating gaze. Shaking his head, he looked determined at Malfoy as they came to a metres distance.

They bowed. They lifted their wands at ready. Turned. Harry could hear his heart thumping, as adrenaline pumped in his veins.

" One…" He reached where he had started from.

" Two…" He turned to face Malfoy.

"Three!"

Harry dived to his right, behind a rock, just as a spell whizzed past his ear at the point he was standing. Scrambling to his feet, he pushed his back against the rock. With slight trepidation, he peeked from the corner and saw Malfoy standing with his wand ready, disregarding any tactical advantage, aiming down at his rock. Harry jerked his head back as another knockback jinx landed where he was a second earlier.

"And Malfoy has clearly taken the offensive approach, trying to end this duel in its early stages. A typical move, to waste the situational advantage by the Slytherin duellist."

Terry's analysis received a lot of indignant remarks and boos from the Slytherin audience, while the Gryffindors cheered him on. Harry however, couldn't afford to lose concentration at this stage. He prepared himself, and launched towards the adjacent boulder, sending jinxes loosely where he knew Malfoy was. The occuring barrage of _Flipendos_ and _Rictusempras_ forced Malfoy to take cover, and bring changes in his strategy.

As seconds ticked by, Harry began to feel confident and the Gryffindors grew louder. He was successfully flanking Malfoy from his right, one rock to another, and his spells had yet to miss his intended mark. And then it happened - Malfoy tripped while trying to hide, and went sprawling towards the Gryffindor segment, losing grip on his wand. Harry jumped at the opportunity and bellowed, "Petrificus Totalus."

The spell went whizzing, straight at Malfoy's exposed torso, and would have definitely hit, that the rocks suddenly moved. The moving rock intercepted the spell, giving Malfoy a wide berth to collect himself and his wand. Harry swayed from exhaustion as the body bind spell missed the target.

That's when the depth of the situation hit Harry, that this duel was not a display of duelling power. The two of them would likely faint from exhaustion from all the running and spellwork, before they could incapacitate each other.

"And the tactical advantage, once again goes to Malfoy, who has succeeded in taking the Gryffindor position as the first change occurs." Terry Boot commented from his stand.

Harry stood behind his rock, panting, with a pronounced sinking feeling in his stomach, realizing that he had played right into the hands of the opposition. The successful flanks, and Malfoy retreating - all a setup. Harry took a deep breath, and shook himself together. Malfoy was making mistakes, giving him chances, no doubt, and he wouldn't get lucky every time. Harry peeked from his right towards the Gryffindor stand, and failed to see Malfoy anywhere. He took another step forward, hoping to catch any hint about Malfoy's position. Instinctively looked at the stand where Ron and Hermione stood, and what he saw were expressions of pure and utter horror.

"FLIPENDO!" Shrieked Malfoy from Harry's left, giving no space, and no chance of missing. The blow struck him right at the gut, and Harry flew a couple metres back, his left arm hitting a boulder. A couple of shrieks resonated through the hall, as Harry felt the world go dizzy. Fortunately, the blow itself wasn't enough to knock him out, but Harry knew Malfoy would charge in, and he needed time.

"Fumos." Harry muttered hazily, and a black smoke streamed out of his wand.

"And Malfoy lands the first hit by rushing around Potter's left. That must have hurt! And here it is - smoke to buy time. Potter is very well in this duel." Terry continued.

Harry brought himself up, nursing the bruise on his left arm.

"Fumos, is one of the exceptions to elementalal transformation, and is acceptable per the Geneva convention. It factors the accuracy of any incoming spells and is most commonly used as a defensive move." Terry Boot explained as the Ravenclaw in him awoke. "And defense is what Harry Potter must be plan - Holy Smokes!"

Against all speculation, Harry charged back to the Gryffindor base, sending in a barrage of Flipendos, not at head level, but rather at the ground, causing dust to encircle half the arena. Malfoy panicked, as the dust made it difficult to make out Harry's position, and he left his cover, afraid of getting flanked like earlier. Harry, however was done with hiding and waiting, and emerged out of the dust storm he had created, catching Malfoy completely and utterly off guard.

"FLIPENDO!"

"LOCOMOTOR WIBBLY!"

Harry's knockback jinx hit, with the marksmanship of a hitwizard, right at Malfoy's wrist. An extremely risky place to aim for, but if connected, the wand would certainly fly out of the grip of the recipient. And that's what happened with Malfoy's outstretched hand. His wand flew off, and the sheer force of Harry's spell broke his wrist, much to his agony. Malfoy crumbled in pain, sobbing as he clutched his arm.

Harry fell to the floor too, as Malfoy's unconventional Jelly Legs jinx hit him. His lower limbs failed to obey his commands, and he brought his wand to his legs to cast the counter curse.

But for the life of him, he couldn't remember it.

It was nothing spectacular, nothing taxing, just a simple incantation which Harry racked his brain for. The crowds grew louder and louder, and Harry felt a pressure he never felt before. His mind grew numb as he panicked, but he couldn't do anything. He lay there, on the ground, wand pointing awkwardly to his legs, with his mind completely blank. Completely. Blank.

"F-Flipendo…" Malfoy stuttered through the pain, casting with his wrong arm. The spell connected and Harry's wand flew out of his awkward grip. It took all that was left in him not to scream out in frustration, as he witnessed Malfoy staring at him with immense hatred. He'd lost. Harry knew that he had lost.

Malfoy trembled with anger, pain and humiliation. His wand wrist hissed in pain and he lost all composure he brought to the duel. All he wanted then was Potter to pay, to fear - "SERPENSORTIA!" He shouted and a black serpent shot out of his wand, baring his fangs, straight at its victim.

Harry watched helplessly as the snake was conjured. He would never forget the way the snake was falling towards him, and the immaculate interception of a spell with the snake's body. Hardly for a split second had the snake come into existence that it met a golden spell, which wiped it out, burning it, till not even ashes remained. Half a second later, Malfoy was disarmed with such a force that his wand flew all the way across the pit, towards the end of the room.

But Harry knew he'd lost. No matter what the convention said, he had lost.

* * *

"The winner, by default, is Harry Potter!" Terry announced as the Gryffindors broke into a cheer, once again. "Malfoy violated the conjuration clause of the convention, causing immediate disqualification. I, for one, had not expected this outcome. But, the verdict of the first interhouse first-year duel stands - Gryffindor wins!"

Professor Alpharde walked down the arena, and casted the counter-jinx on Harry. Slowly getting up to his feet, Harry stowed his wand and stood blankly amidst the cheers. "As decided," Professor Alpharde addressed the gathering, "Slytherin house will submit the two essays on Monday." Half the hall broke into cheers while the other groaned. "Now scoot off, everyone, and get on with your day. Potter, stay back. Ms Parkinson, would you be so kind to escort Malfoy here to the hospital wing, thank you. Boot, don't try and jump out of that stand, I'll get it down, good work kid!"

The hall started to empty out with overlapping hushed conversations. Harry picked himself up, out of the pit and walked to the adjoint office of the duelling master, not keen on talking to any of his Gryffindor mates. He entered the cold office and sank into one of the chairs, livid at himself. A few moments later, from a now quiet hall, Professor Alpharde entered.

"Congratulations Potter, on the victory, if you can call it that."

Harry looked down, wincing at the sarcasm.

"Your wand movement is overly dramatic. Situational perception - zero. The only bloody thing you did right the entire duel was creating smoke, and that too you charged out of without a plan. I'd say you lasted that long, only because Malfoy couldn't stop tripping over his own feet. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Harry shook his head.

"And I'll be kind enough not to talk about the last minute nervous breakdown you had. It happens to the best of us. But what I do expect from you is a detailed foot long parchment, listing out your mistakes, and what you could have better in the situation."

Harry nodded meekly, as his eyes stung. "Sir," he said softly, "It wasn't a breakdown. I forgot the incantation."

"Come again." Muric said, his voice dangerously low.

Harry shook himself together, and looked on straight, talking a little louder. "I knew what I had to do. But I couldn't counter the jinx, as I couldn't remember the incantation."

The room went silent for a long pause, after which Muric leaned back into his chair with his shoulders slumped. "That's a relief."

"A relief?" Harry questioned, surprised.

"I had assumed you couldn't handle the fact that you had broken the boy's wrist and that he was in pain. One gets into a state of shock, sometimes, in such situations, and the only way one can handle it, is to put themselves in such a situation again and again, till it doesn't affect them anymore."

Muric fiddled with a quill on his desk. "But seeing that you actually _had_ the stomach to land the final blow, and just couldn't do so because of your negligence in classwork, comes to me, somewhat, as a relief."

"Negligence?"

"Don't colour yourself surprised, Mr Potter. Your essays have gotten vague over the weeks, you're missing details, clearly not practicing enough in the practical lessons. Your focus is askew. Have a look for yourself - Accio Harry Potter's essays." The professor made a beckoning motion with his wand, and from a pile of parchments, half a dozen flew towards him, stacking themselves neatly on the table. Harry walked towards the pile, and saw a scratchy 'A' written on top. Shuffling the papers around, he noticed it clearly, how his work standards had been falling.

Muric opened his desk and brought out another parchment, which Harry recognised to be his last week's submission. "Just look at this. Blatant copying from my text. Factual errors." Circling a paragraph, he continued, "You clearly made this one up." Progressing through the parchment, he scratched and circled all of Harry's mistakes, leaving Harry red and flustered.

"Now look for yourself Mr Potter, does this deserve even a passing grade? If I wanted my text copied, I would have used the gemino charm." Turning back to the start, he scribbled an 'A' on the top. "I cannot fail you, because what you have written, is largely correct, but this is not what I want from the assignments. I want students to think, to understand situations and write what they theoretically would have done. Duelling is a lot about situational improvisation, students never get that."

Harry placed the parchment back on the table, stumped as to what his next statements should be. Professor Alpharde continued, with a somewhat kind voice.

"It's just the beginning. Pull yourself together, and work earnestly. I want your submission on Monday to be significantly better than this one. Now off you go."

Harry thanked the duelling master, and walked out of the office where his two friends stood, holding his book bag.

For some odd reason, the sinking feeling he had all day, had vanished.

* * *

 **Fic Recommendation-** This fic is really one of the best ever, and I'm devastated that it is not novel length. I'm sure you all will get drawn to the storytelling in this one, so do check it out- 'Negligentia', by Murkatroyd.

 **Now, as all my characters are appropriately placed and defined, I can begin my plots and schemes. Keep an eye out for it. Please review.**


	11. Answers

**Disclaimer-** The Wizarding World and all in it belongs to JKR, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros, etc.

 **Author's note-** It's moving forward slowly, but surely. Thanks for sticking around.

 **Tide's note-** This chapter has been in the works for a long time and I believe I may speak for all of us, when I say, that it was worth it. Muric is awesome.

 **Sassy's note-** I've been waiting for this chapter to come out, eventually I'm far more happier with the result than expected. Rain's still got it. The suspense in the story is getting bigger and I'm dying to know how this plot thickens…

* * *

" _We need to get out of here, now!" She tugged my hand and closed her eyes, waiting for the pensieve to eject us out of the memory._

 _But nothing happened. Upon the distance, grey clouds of smoke engulfed the buildings, as though the world seemed to collapse on us._

 _I sighed and shook my hand out of her grip. "This is not your usual memory. We can not leave yet."_

" _What now?" She asked._

" _We need to finish what we came here to do," I answered solemnly._

* * *

 **Answers**

"Good day, Lord Greengrass."

"Sir, the amendment bill will be voted on Wednesday-"

"Good day, Mr Greengrass."

"- and I've put the copy of it on your desk. Coley is ready with-"

"G'morning, Sir."

"-the Light briefing, and Jaques will round up the Darks by lunch."

The Department of Imports and Exports hustled with busy ministry workers, with memos in the shape of paper planes flying through the doors over their heads, and a clamour of _Good Mornings_ ringing in the halls. Walking down the department halls was Cyrus Greengrass, and Olivia.

Cyrus Greengrass had been the brains behind the progress in development of the department for the last ten years, though never at the helm of any project. He had given up his position as the Head of Department a long time back, when he had decided to take over the Greengrass seat in the Wizengamot. His successor, Tobias Murphy, surprised by the vote of confidence and overburdened by a post he didn't know how to handle, had then made it a point to ask Cyrus's advice in any matter of doubt. A habit that Toby followed down the years till the current date.

Cyrus was loved and respected by the entire I&E department, and the lucrative solutions and policies that had been tactfully unearthed and passed by the Wizengamot made him somewhat of a legend in the Ministry. Though he never soberly said it out loud, Cyrus liked his old job in the department much more than being a Lord in the Wizengamot. So much so, that when Toby showed him a new corner office in the department floor, with a fantastic view, Cyrus accepted it in haste. A decision, he felt he never regretted.

Accompanying him from the ministry floo chamber to his office was Olivia. A bright young Ravenclaw alumni, with the situational awareness of a bloodhound. Olivia was an expert on the inner politics of the voters in the Wizengamot, and Cyrus had realized this potential within the first minute of her interview. Olivia's salary had been finalized, and she found herself as the Legislative Aide to the house of Greengrass.

"Send Coley and Jaques to me, first thing after lunch. Get Jerry to draft our perspective and brief me-" Cyrus looked at his watch, "-in twenty minutes."

"Jerry is on leave, sir." she interrupted.

"Why?"

"His uncle is admitted to St. Mungos. Ran into a doxy infestation while playing Quidditch." Olivia answered. "May have had a couple drinks before," she added hesitantly.

"Alright, get someone smart to draft our statement. And get it done fast." Cyrus said without breaking a stride.

"Good Morning, Mrs. Appleton." Cyrus yelled as he entered his office. He hung his coat at the stand beside the door, and sat down at his table.

Mrs. Appleton entered a few moments later, "Good morning, Lord Greengrass. As I have said a countless number of times, you might want to consider sticking around for a response when you wish someone a good morning." With a look of faux disappointment, she continued, "Post arrived for you sir, nothing important, apart from this one." She handed him a roll, sealed with a black rubber-like seal. Cyrus recognized it on sight and put it away in his pocket.

"You're expecting Lord Smith and Denver, discussing the bill to be voted on. I've cleared your ten o'clock." She spoke swiftly. "Anything else, sir?"

"Thank you Mrs. Appleton. Send Jerry's uncle some flowers at St. Mungo's, will you?" Cyrus said, not looking up from a report on his desk.

"Sure, sir." She said and made way to the door.

The report was another absurd attempt at cutting funds of all departments, with claims on a fiscal deficit. Cyrus began to note down its issues, the sealed envelope out of his mind.

* * *

Later that evening, Cyrus shut himself in his study, thinking of catching up with the copy of the newest amendment bill. Sitting at his desk, he inadvertently checked his inner coat pockets and drew out the post he had received at work. He broke the seal and began to read.

After scanning through the parchment one final time, Cyrus got up and went to the fireplace.

"William Ashew." He spoke, after throwing in a pinch of floo powder in the flames. The flames turned green, and soon enough a face emerged from them.

"Greengrass." The face acknowledged, with a Yorkshire accent. "I hoped never to hear from you."

"And you did hear from me when I sent you an owl. Let's cut to the chase, William, I need this-"

"Not for another three weeks, Cyrus."

"- Tomorrow." Cyrus finished his sentence slowly.

"Merlin's sake, there are procedures. Can't go letting people in, you know that."

"This is what is going to happen, William. You'll open the fucking gates, let whoever I want come in, and never breathe a word about it to anyone. Because, I never asked questions when you came asking for favours."

The face in the flames rubbed his eyes, and continued, "This is wrong on so many levels… Never expected you to go underhand, Cyrus."

"I need this, William. I've been straight with you from the beginning. Just an hour."

"Who will be coming?"

"An old friend." Cyrus answered.

The face in the flames vanished as the fire turned yellow once again. Cyrus went back to his table feeling a little tired. Ashew was right. He detested underhanded jobs. Taking out a fresh parchment, he began to write.

 _Muric,_

 _Tomorrow. One hour._

 _William Ashew - Azkaban Chief Warden._

 _Take my name._

Rolling up the parchment, he called for Tilly, the Greengrass elf, and asked it to send the parchment to the Hogwarts duelling master.

* * *

Harry Potter was having a terrible, terrible day.

He had taken refuge in the boy's dormitory after the duel, largely due to the incessant booing that followed him whenever he walked around in the corridors. He had expected Slytherins to be sore about the duel, but it were the not-so-subtle looks he received from his Gryffindor housemates that made it worse. The duel had been hyped up way out of proportion and now Harry felt the brunt of it, that after the initial laurels and praise, came the judgment of everyone with a darn opinion.

Hermione protested that his self-exile in his bed couldn't be a healthy solution, but Harry disagreed. He lay on his bed, going through the notes he had made the past month. For Astronomy, Herbology and Potions- he had none. Just a few scribbles, doodles, and last minute copied assignments which he had turned in for a passing grade.

"Mate, you're thinking too much into it." Ron tried to handle the 'situation' from his bed.

"Not now Ron," Harry responded distantly, with his head still in his notes.

Harry got up from his bed and began searching for his Charms notes. He couldn't believe how irresponsible he had become in barely a month. He vented his frustration on the junk at his bedside table, as it flew all around the floor while he searched.

He thought he would be better. He had _planned_ to be better. All those years, sitting in the cupboard under the stairs, he had planned to be the best wizard ever, and he couldn't remember a simple counter jinx because of negligence. Negligence! His telescope went sprawling on the floor, and clinked away under Seamus's bed.

"Harry. You _won_." Ron said. "Might not a much of a clean victory, but you got Malfoy good. You broke his arm, and for all what he has done to make Neville miserable, I'm happy you broke his arm."

"Malfoy lost, Ron, because he would rather see me writhing in pain from a snake bite." Harry said without looking up from the floor. "The entire schools knows what actually happened, that I sat there in the middle of the duel like a turnip, while Malfoy disarmed me and could have had his fun. Just that he'd rather see me poisoned than humiliated."

Ron came up to Harry's bed and handed him his telescope (which was reluctant to go back to Harry). "Come down for dinner mate, the talks will die out. Hermione will nag otherwise."

"I'm not hungry." Harry said quietly.

Harry turned back to his side table and drew out his DADA class notes. It contained an unfinished game of hangman, a funny doodle of Professor Quirrell carrying a frog, and something that looked like the Cannon's logo with _Chudley Cannons rule_ written underneath it. Harry had a faint smile on his face, which vanished as soon as it appeared. With a steeled expression, he sat at his table, took out his potions text and began to read.

* * *

A light-hearted tune played on the Wireless late at night, while Muric spent his time replying to the numerous letters he had received in the last week. A soft knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts, and a moment later a Hogwarts elf popped into his study. It bowed low and spoke.

"Headmaster Sir, has summoned you sir, in his office, sir. Mendes will accompany you if you would want, sir."

Glancing at his pocket watch, he answered, "Go on now, I'll be right there." The elf bowed once more, snapped it's fingers and vanished.

Sighing softly, Muric flicked his wand and the letters methodically piled themselves on a shelf. While he donned his purple robe, a sharp knock rang from his window. On closer inspection, he noticed that outside his window was an owl, with a majestic grey plumage. The owl hopped inside the room, and then hopped closer to the fireplace, ruffling it's wet feathers. It held out its leg to Muric, and nibbled on a treat Muric had fished out.

Meanwhile, Muric having recognised the red seal of the House of Greengrass, tore open the letter and read through it. Once he'd memorized the contents, he threw the envelope into the fireplace and hurried out of the room.

* * *

"Good evening, Muric."

"Good evening, Headmaster. How can I help you?"

Dumbledore stood up from his desk, and picked up the bowl of sweets he kept for meetings. "Lemon drop?"

"Not today, sir."

"It has come to my attention, Muric, that after the illustrious duel we witnessed in the great hall, you did conduct another of only first years."

Muric nodded with a stern expression. He wasn't surprised by the headmaster's line of questions, having expected them for quite a while.

"Was there anything unusual about the duel?"

Muric cleared his throat before speaking. "No sir, it was a standard duel. I enchanted the arena to provide dysfunctional cover to the duellists. The duel ended by disqualification when Mr Malfoy conjured a snake, prohibited by the Geneva Convention."

"Anything other than that?" Dumbledore asked mildly.

"No sir."

"Regretfully, Muric, the distance between students of different houses has been quite large, of late. And I would like you to exercise caution while, let's say, poking the sleeping bear."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir. Assuredly, my students education is first on my priority."

"Alright then," the headmaster said amiably. "On a happier note, an invitation from Beauxbaton Academy of Magic arrived yesterday, and I have cleared up all formalities with the Board. It seems, finally Hogwarts will be participating in the well anticipated Grumdrings Duels, this year."

Muric was visibly shocked by this. "Really?" He asked. "Wonder what brought this on."

"My dear boy, I would wager that word of your work assignment has travelled wide and far. The Grumdrings is a prestigious circuit, and the students will learn a lot. And dare I say, it might be an interesting experience for you as well."

"I'll get things started here, sir." Muric said while getting up from his seat. "Anything else?"

"Goodnight then."

"Goodnight Professor." Muric turned to leave, and almost as an afterthought he turned back. "I do have a personal matter to attend to, tomorrow. It might take me a while to get back."

Dumbledore, from his desk spoke thoughtfully, "It's Halloween tomorrow. And I wouldn't miss the dinner if I were you, Muric. Professor Flitwick assures me that we would be served pumpkin pie."

"Doesn't that happen every year, sir?"

"Well, this time the pie will be served inside the carved pumpkins floating around the hall." Dumbledore reasoned.

"I'll surely be back by dessert then." Muric said with a small smile. With a slight nod, he exited the room.

* * *

The next day, Muric donned his reliable dragonhide boots and armplates and made his way down the Hogwarts fields. He had worn his wrist holster, and even took the time to stock up on a few potion vials before he left the school's secured boundaries. No measure taken was over the head when one planned to go to a place as dreadful as Azkaban. And after weeks and weeks of preparation, he finally had an hour he could use.

Lawfully, there were two ways one reaches Azkaban. Either, become a convicted felon, get incarcerated and shipped off to serve time. Or, work through the ministry formalities, and get the paperwork in order. The latter being impossible for Muric, as he had no intention of letting his previous employment become a matter of public knowledge. Muric didn't investigate how exactly Cyrus got him access to the warden, and he didn't plan to. There were questions he needed answered.

As he reached the edge of the Hogwarts, he felt the misty, heavy weight of the wards vanish. The feeling was always strange to him, like putting off a load you do not realize you're carrying. Shrugging it off, he began a series of apparitions, crossing short distances and resting between each of them. This was hardly the best way to travel across the country. But any alternative required ministry approved portkeys, or floo networks, both of which were not an option. He stopped for lunch at Portree, and continued northwest.

Azkaban was a fortress, way out in the middle of the North Sea. The closest landmass to it were the Isle of Drears, which was home to the endangered Quintaped, and for that reason was made unplottable by the ministry. Across these isles, was his destination, the desolate town of Alcarsaras. Here, Muric would be granted access to the prison. As he approached Alcarsaras, Muric felt to his bones the unearthly chill that hung in the air. The town itself lacked residents, mostly because no livestock or farms could exist in a place so cold.

And the lesser one spoke about the dementors, the better.

Situated in the centre of the town stood a dark, imposing building, with a black crest of crossed axes. Muric shuddered because of the cold, astonished by the change in weather brought on by a single apparition. He walked up to the gates and knocked. A good while later, a burly auror showed up from inside, and escorted Muric to the warden's office.

While he waited, the auror glared at him with a scrutinizing gaze and spoke, "You seem familiar."

"You do not." Muric responded.

The auror grunted a response, and waited by the door for the warden to arrive. Minutes later, William Ashew walked in his office, engaged on some letter. Peering over his glasses, he sighed at Muric and shook his head.

"Mr Wilkins here will be looking over our books, Smith." Ashew said to the auror. "Make sure no one comes within ten feet of this office. I would hate him to feel - inconvenienced."

"Doesn't he seem familiar to you, Warden?" Smith asked.

"Not a bit. And the sooner he leaves, the better I'd feel." Ashew responded looking straight at Muric. The auror gave a half smirk, saluted the warden and exited the room.

Muric looked at the warden disdainfully, "You don't seem particularly happy to see me, Warden."

"Muric Alpharde…" Ashew spoke slowly. "Working errands for Greengrass now, are you?"

"Not as much as we're helping each other out. How is it you know me, warden?"

"Your reputation precedes you, Mr Alpharde. I had graduated two years before you had taken reins of the academy. Never got the chance to learn from you. Whisky?"

Muric shook his head. Ashew poured himself a glass and sat behind his desk. The fireplace flared green, signalling a floo call which he promptly ignored.

"Look at what we've become. These wraiths from hell suck off anything worth remembering, and we are left with a life bleak and barren, just like this town. A mere skeletal frame." Taking a big swing of his drink, he continued, "I'm afraid I can't grant you any escort. You will have to handle the dementors alone."

Muric nodded. "Just get me inside, William."

Ashew removed a flask from his pockets and passed it onto Muric. "Polyjuice. I have taken apart the wards that detect potions such as these temporarily. This will last for a little over an hour, so you need to be here, in this office before the transformation finishes."

Muric took the flash, and looked it over. "Get me a boat, will you. And warden, whom am I changing into?"

The warden took off his spectacles, and handed them to Muric.

"Me."

* * *

The prison island symbolized fear and hopelessness. Even the black, jagged stones on which the prison was built, reeked of foul magic. There was something wrong with this place, something so deep in it's foundation that tethered the dementors to it. Whatever it was, Muric did not wish to find out.

Aboard the boat, Muric took a potion he was carrying, relishing the warmth it offered. He wondered whether using a Patronus charm would be appropriate, considering the disguise he donned, and decided to keep it as a last resort. The edges of the lake was frozen. Luckily for him, the pier extended to quite a distance into the waters, which allowed Muric to tie the boat and walk into the dark gates.

He entered the demented archway and walked towards the black scaling walls where the archaic symbol of crossed axes was etched. A guard walked up to him, shivering in the cold and saluted.

"Here for rounds, are ya Warden?" He asked.

Muric nodded and let the guard lead him inside the castle. The walls on the inside were very wet, with icicles protruding from within few of the cracks. Dismissing the guard, Muric made way towards the stone stairway, onto the topmost floors - there, he would find the prisoners guilty of the foulest crimes.

The dark hallways reeked of pain and misery. Muric walked swiftly to the cells, as per the warden's directions. He looked at his watch and then looked at Black's cell. Forty minutes.

"Sirius Black." He spoke in the warden's rough voice.

A pile of rags shifted inside the dark cell. "Sirius Black." Muric repeated. His eyes widened at the state of the prisoner. Black's frame had dropped to half his size, his hair tattered, and his eyes which once shone with confidence and notoriety were now dead blank.

"What do you want?" Black said croakily.

"Answers." Muric said as he pulled a iron stool in front of the bars.

Sirius looked confused for a moment, and then tensed up, "Who are you?" He spoke cautiously.

"Very good, Black. Situational awareness. Good to see that you remember my lessons, even after becoming… whatever it is that you have become."

"Muric Alpharde?" Black said slowly and turned back into a dark corner. A soft chuckle escaped his lips.

"Why did you kill those muggles, Black?"

Black continued to chuckle, getting louder by the second. The mirthless chortles echoed in the prison, and then died out. "You fooled everyone didn't you! Bravo. Vol -", Sirius shuddered, "- The Dark Lord was fooled too. After that stint in the ministry… but here you are. Bravo!"

"Enough about me, Black." Muric said, glancing at his watch. "I need to know what went wrong. Of all people, I would have never imagined it would be you. I couldn't believe what I heard, when I heard it…"

"Still the same, are you Muric? You come back after years, like nothing changed." Black's voice was soft again.

"I don't have much time. I'm here, Black-"

"But where were you when we needed you? Our ever-reliable mentor? You left! WHEN WE NEEDED YOU, YOU LEFT JAMES AND ME!" Black screamed unnaturally. The effort broke something in him, and he slipped to the floor slowly, shivering.

"You left.. us." Black spoke, his voice barely a whisper now.

Through the visage of the warden, it was difficult to place how Muric felt. With a tone absent of any sympathy, Muric continued, "You were charged guilty. All evidence points towards you. That poor boy, Pettigrew, you killed him… in cold blood."

"It has been ten years, ten years in this hellhole. And they believe I betrayed James, Muric." Black continued as if he had never heard Muric. "Me - betraying - my friend, my brother…"

Muric stood there, overwhelmed at the situation.

He wanted to believe Sirius, but this wasn't enough. By no means would Black's words carry any credibility. Black was a deranged killer who had murdered innocents, unrepentant of his actions. Sirius Black had laughed in open court when the charges had been levied against him. That was the truth, wasn't it?

His student lay collapsed to the ground, muttering incoherently. "I would have died before betraying him, I would have fought - alongside, had I the - chance." He said between pained stifles.

Muric felt for him, for the broken boy in front of him, his cherished student. Something urged him to listen to his instinct over the facts, and Muric made his choice.

"Black, focus now. I need to know everything. If not you, someone must have betrayed the Potters, for the world believes it was you who broke the Fidelus. If you didn't, who was it? The secret keeper? Who, Black?"

Sirius didn't say anything. His shoulders slumped down at the bars, and they heaved periodically as he sobbed. "I'd never betray James. I'd rather die." He repeated, oblivious to Muric.

"Black, let me help you. I need to know everything," Muric said urgently. "Get your thoughts together, for Merlin's sake."

But Sirius Black was deaf to any reason now. Halfway across his attempts, Muric realized that he was shutting Sirius in, more and more as he talked about the events from ten years back. He glanced at his watch. For this to work, Muric had to change his approach, and he had to do it quick.

"After I played my part in the war, I left for France." Muric said quietly. "I wasn't in the right state of mind. The war was harsh on everyone, but even more so, on us. You had your Order business, and me, well I was on the auror frontlines. But France was good for me. By the time I recovered, the war was over… and I just couldn't bear to return."

Sirius was no longer twitching. He sat against the wall, watching Muric intently.

"And after all these years, Dumbledore asked me to return to Hogwarts. It is same as before, you know." Muric said. "Back at the academy, I always told you how I'd like to teach dueling to students instead of aurors, and that's what I'm doing now. It's a humbling experience." Sirius inched closer to the bars, hanging by every of Muric's words. "These kids haven't seen war, Black, and it shows. Hogwarts has a sense of happiness now, which it never had in the past decades. These students are happier- more carefree. I really enjoy teaching them, more than I expected."

"You know. Harry is in my class, first-year." Muric waited with a bated breath, for a reaction. "He's a splitting image of his father, hair is messy as it always was. But his eyes, he has-"

"Lily's eyes…" Sirius said, with a smile. A warm smile. His face showed emotions he believed he had forgotten, as Muric talked about his godson. "How is he?" Sirius asked, in a choked voice.

"He is good. I just concluded a duel between him and Malfoy, yeah, Lucius's son. Let's just say he has a good head on his shoulders, and he is learning how to use it. He seems happy to me, Black. Surrounded by friends, and respected by everyone in our world, he is safe."

"He is not safe, Muric." Sirius said. His voice quivered no longer, and for the first time in the conversation Black sounded sane.

"What do you mean?" Muric asked, straightening up.

"No proof. No wand. Where is the body, Muric?" Sirius shuddered, banging the bars after every statement. "The rat knows, oh yes. He knows- Peter, always good in hiding, in following," Sirius spat.

Muric took out his watch. Ten minutes. "Peter Pettigrew died." He said slowly.

"I wish I had killed him that night." Sirius said, as an unnatural laugh escaped his lips. "But he had it planned. Who would suspect him? I killed James, Muric. I as good as killed him."

"Peter Pettigrew betrayed them." Sirius said, staring at the floor. His voice was serious, and calm as he whispered. "I have heard things here, things no one speaks elsewhere. "He is alive. The Dark Lord cannot be killed."

For the second time in the conversation, Muric didn't know what to say. He glanced at his watch, and hurried up from his stool. From the cell, Black's hand shot out and grasped the front of his robe.

"Promise me, Alpharde. That you will keep Harry safe. PROMISE ME. For James and Lily. For me..." Sirius said, his voice choking up towards the end.

"I will." Muric instantly responded, straightening his robes. Black slacked against the wall once again, his eyes shut. Barely a moment passed that he shot from his corner, terrified. "They're coming. Go! GO!"

"Who-," Muric had barely spoken that he felt it. An unnatural chill ran through him, as the puddles on the floor froze. It could only be dementors. Fighting the internal bouts of panic, Muric rushed towards the cell and passed in all the vials he had carried from Hogwarts.

"These will help you in the worst nights. Use them scarcely, Black." Muric urgently said. Handing all of his potions, Muric turned around and briskly walked away. If what he heard in there was true, there was much to be done, and not much time to do it.

His mind kept going back to Black's words. About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and what it meant if he was not dead. Nowhere would be safe. Something felt wrong to him- like the events were occuring all too fast, and conveniently. But then, Harry was safe in Hogwarts. Under Dumbledore's watchful eyes, Muric believed that no harm could come to the little boy.

* * *

Miles away, Harry Potter screamed as he came face to face with a club wielding mountain troll.

* * *

 **Fic Recommendation-** Some fics are so well paced, and well written, I go back to them time and again, just for the scenes and moments. One of them is 'Daphne Greengrass and the Importance of Intent', by Petrificus Somewhatus. I highly recommend it.

 **Felt really taxed writing Sirius, as understanding the mindset of such a complex character was difficult. Thanks to my betas, for their constant motivation. Happy Reading!**


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